


Crepuscular

by EmptySurface



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Fem!Harry, Gen, Harry Wings It, Harry is reckless, Harry needs to stop getting hurt, Kreacher deserves more love, Mother-Hen Regulus, Orion & Walburga are Terrible Parents, Shenanigans, The Marauders - Freeform, family magicks, marauder era, teenagers being dumb, time-travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmptySurface/pseuds/EmptySurface
Summary: Harry might have ended up in the past against her wishes, but now that she was already there you could bet your life on the fact she'd make the most of it.Fighting Death Eaters, evading Aurors and Ministry attention was an old game and she'd only gotten better at it with age.Accidentally becoming the Lady Black and adopting a teenager hadn't really been part of the plan, but... Harry's plans never worked out like she wanted anyway.
Relationships: Kreacher & Harry Potter, Regulus Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 209
Kudos: 1783





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another new story? Yes. Yes, it is! Another old one I found in the folders! After a light dusting, it's as good as new!

The Black household could never have been accused of being peaceful and loving.

Lately, though, things had been even more difficult than usual, Kreacher mused to himself as he went about his day, cleaning up the mess from Mistress' latest fit of rage.

Master had locked himself in the office on the second floor, and Kreacher would have to replace the bottle of Firewhiskey in there soon or face his Master's ire.

Young master Regulus was in his room. Kreacher would make sure to send up a large plate of his favourite cooking as soon as he was done here; the boy hadn't eaten all day!

That was unacceptable, and Kreacher was a _good_ house-elf! He'd take proper care of the young master.

The oldest son of the Black House was not to be spoken of; Mistress had been _very_ strict on that point, using her wand on Kreacher when he'd forgotten himself this morning.

Shuddering at the memory, Kreacher hurried to tidy up the small parlour, popping to the kitchen the moment he was done.

He got young master Regulus his dinner, replaced the Firewhiskey bottle for Master Orion and-

Something quite remarkably out of the ordinary -even in these times- happened.

Kreacher froze in the middle of tidying up the kitchen, wiping down the pots he'd used to cook the Master and Mistress' dinner, feeling a familiar pull on his magic.

Someone was calling for him, but the 'feel' of them wasn't even remotely familiar, and normally, Kreacher would have just ignored it. This time, he physically didn't have a choice.

Before he could so much as _consider_ refusing, his own magic had responded, rising up and popping him away in answer to the call.

He found himself in the middle of a poorly lit clearing in what looked like an old, lush forest.

A cloaked figure was stood before him.

Kreacher peered fearfully up at the wizard- no, _witch_. He blinked and looked closer, trying to see anything beneath the dark cloak, see through the shadows of the hood.

The only thing that told him it was a female stood before him was the feel of the stranger's magic.

“It worked,” the witch remarked quietly, as if surprised by Kreacher being forced to heed the call of his name uttered by her mouth.

“Kreacher- Kreacher is a Black elf,” he croaked, too frightful of this unknown situation to speak as he would to anyone else other than his rightful Master or Mistress who tried to order him around.

This person had called out to his magic directly.

The hood dipped in a slight nod. “And I am, technically, the Lady Black,” the stranger claimed calmly.

Kreacher's face slowly grew red with unmitigated outrage, though he was unable to actually vocalize it. Because his magic told him it was _true_.

Master Orion was still _Master_ Orion, the Lord Black, but this- this witch was _also_ Lady Black.

It didn't make a lick of sense, but there you had it.

Kreacher panted with effort as he slowly worked it through in his head, eyes wide and staring unblinkingly at the witch.

Who stood motionless before him, waiting patiently for him to calm down.

“Kreacher,” she said after a long, quiet minute. “I called you because I need your help. There's a lot I need to do and if everything goes according to plan, I'll be able to save Regulus' life. Do you understand?” she asked solemnly, and though Kreacher couldn't see her face, he felt the weight of her gaze.

“Young Master Regulus?” Kreacher croaked hoarsely, eyes widening further.

The hood dipped in another nod. “His parents are about to encourage him into joining the Dark Lord's ranks. It will kill him, Kreacher,” she said gravely, leaning forward and reaching out a hand from the folds of the cloak to grasp one of his hands in a gentle hold.

Kreacher made a choked, disbelieving noise.

“He preaches blood purity and Pureblood superiority, but he cares nothing for that when it comes down to it; all he cares for is himself and power,” she said, almost kindly. “Regulus will stand no chance; he will be swept away by the raging storm that is Tom Riddle on the warpath to achieve Greatness.”

“Master and Mistress would _never_ ,” Kreacher muttered weakly, worry all but eating him up inside.

“They care for the image; _appearances_. If they think it will further their standing, promote their beliefs... they will sacrifice Regulus to the Dark Lord.”

“The other son...” Kreacher mumbled under his breath.

“Either he'll be killed by the Dark Lord and his followers, or he'll survive and they get to have one Black on either side of the conflict; it's insurance,” the woman murmured quietly on a sigh. “It's why they never fought his running to the Potters,” she mused.

“What would- what would Lady need Kreacher for?” he asked slowly, feeling shaken and out of sorts.

The urge to check up on the young master was near-overwhelming.

“For now, just simple things,” the woman said. “Unfortunately, I wasn't planning this trip, and I find myself in a bit of need of assistance.”

She sounded wryly amused about it, too.

This witch didn't seem like any Lady Kreacher had ever come across before.

“Assistance?” Kreacher repeated confusedly.

The witch sighed heavily, raising a hand to -presumably- rub at her face, her hand disappearing into the darkness of her hood.

“I'd really just like a well-cooked meal and some company right now.”

Kreacher blinked, staring blankly at the woman in front of him.

“Please, Kreacher?” Her voice broke slightly, and she cleared her throat.

“Kreacher will do as ordered by the Lady Black,” Kreacher muttered, feeling something strange in his chest, like it was a little difficult to breathe, all of a sudden.

“Thank you,” the witch breathed, placing one hand to his cheek in a fond gesture Kreacher hadn't even seen Mistress express towards her children.

No, the Black Family was strange as of late; nothing was as it had been, but... perhaps it would be for the better, Kreacher mused as he looked up at the Lady Black, her magic all but humming in the air around them.

-x-x-x-

Leading Kreacher to the wizards' tent she'd put up in the other end of the clearing was the easiest thing Harry had done since arriving here.

Just having something, some _one_ familiar near was... she could allow herself this small comfort, right?

And it wasn't _just_ for her own sake; having a house-elf's help would be priceless further on.

Harry knew it better than most. Dobby would always have a special place in her heart.

He was on her list, too.

On the list of people to save.

Kreacher looked around the inside of the tent with obvious distaste, muttering under his breath about the inappropriate standard for the Lady Black. The _outrage_.

It was enough to make her smile.

Waving her wand in the direction of the wards, Harry made sure they were still strong and held true before she slipped her wand back into its holster.

With a tired sigh, Harry took off the cloak, tossing it over the back of one of the padded armchairs in the sitting room, collapsing into the chair a moment later.

Rubbing her hands over her face, Harry tried to gather her thoughts enough to consider the next step.

How many Horcruxes had good old Tom made already?

She could guess that the one in the cave hadn't yet been placed there -based on Kreacher himself, if nothing else- but would soon be? The cup might already be in Bellatrix's vault, which was irritating, and then there was the diadem at Hogwarts... had she forgotten anything?

Oh, yes. Malfoy might or might not have been given the diary.

All of that made an impressively extensive list of locations, all of which would be near-impossible to break into without killing herself.

 _Almost_.

“Lady Black,” Kreacher said uncertainly a while later, fingers clenched around the kitchen towel he wore around his hips and looking anxiously at her. “Kreacher made dinner,” he said when she turned to look at him.

Harry sent him a grateful smile and climbed to her feet. “You're a treasure, Kreacher,” she sighed, moving to take her seat by the small kitchen table, taking in the hearty, expertly cooked meal the house-elf had supplied her with.

While Harry ate, Kreacher nervously began to clean up the kitchen. And then went over the rest of the tent too, while he was at it, twitchy with nervous energy.

“I'll try not to disturb you from your duties at Grimmauld Place too often,” she promised once she was done, turning to look at Kreacher, who froze on the spot. “I'll call you occasionally, but I want you to finish any tasks you've already been given beforehand, understand?” Kreacher nodded uncertainly, looking quietly bewildered. “And you _must not_ tell anyone anything about me. That's a direct order. I can't protect anyone unless my existence remains a secret, Kreacher,” she told him seriously.

She may be laying it on a _bit_ thick, and throwing in some emotional blackmail, too, for added security. But it wasn't like it was all that far off the mark, truly.

Harry didn't want to even imagine the kind of chaos she'd be subjected to if the wrong people found out about her being here. Or heard just so much as her _name_.

“Kreacher will keep the Lady's secrets,” Kreacher muttered awkwardly, but sincerely enough.

It was remarkable to see him like this; before years of Walburga's toxic influence and somewhere around a decade of solitude had left him quite insane. Voldemort had left his own significant mark, too.

This house-elf was nowhere _near_ as bad as the one she'd first met back when she'd been fifteen.

He was almost... normal.

Or, as much as a house-elf belonging to an old, pureblooded and severely prejudiced Family could possibly be, she supposed.

The moment she was done with her meal and had pushed the plate a bit away from her, Kreacher was there, swiping it up and washing it before Harry could do more than blink.

“Was there anything else Lady wanted of Kreacher?” the house-elf asked when he was done, clearly anxious to get back to more familiar grounds.

“No, but,” she said before he could pop back to the Black London residence. “Kreacher, this is an order, okay? You're not to punish yourself for _anything_ , even if Walburga and Orion tell you to. Understood?”

Kreacher stared at her with wide, wide eyes for a long time, before he gave a miniscule nod and popped away.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, rubbed a hand over her face and slumped back in her seat.

What was she even doing?

This was all an awful idea and she'd probably end up making everything worse. But... if she could save even a handful of people, then it'd be worth it. She'd work tirelessly to make things right, correct any mistakes she _would_ end up making.

With renewed determination, Harry got up and walked into the small office the tent was equipped with, grimly focused on planning out her next few moves.

-x-x-x-

Kreacher walked on eggshells for a couple of days, fearfully waiting for the strange Lady to call him back, all the while doing his best to serve his unhappy and displeased Mistress and Master.

The situation grew more and more tense, the oldest son's departure felt more sharply the longer time passed.

The few, occasional times Kreacher was called to the Lady was almost a blessing.

He got to spend a few minutes just cooking dinner, all the while spoken to as gently as by young master Regulus!

It became a much needed breather.

Even that time the Lady had called on Kreacher because she'd injured herself! Kreacher had popped back to the town house and gotten her a few potions, since the Lady hadn't had her own. Something she'd muttered she'd have to correct as soon as she'd be able.

So when the tense situation came to a head a few weeks later, Kreacher didn't know what to do.

Didn't know what he _could_ do.

He was certain the Lady would do her best to help, though. She'd _sworn_ she wanted to help save young master Regulus!

And if she didn't help...

Kreacher grabbed young master Regulus' hand and popped away.

-x-x-x-

Harry, nursing a few impressive bruises, was sitting in her favourite armchair, reading through the latest book she'd set her sights on; Hermione would be _so_ proud.

None of the alarms had gone off, and as long as they didn't, she'd be spending the day in the tent, resting and continuing her research.

There were _lists_.

Things she had to study further if she was supposed to have even so much as a _hope_ of doing any good here.

Kreacher popping in on his own initiative hadn't even occurred as a possible occurrence.

Not that the house-elf wasn't welcome; she just hadn't thought he'd liked her enough to want to visit without an explicit order.

The fact that he'd brought someone with him was... _unexpected_.

“Kreacher?” Harry asked, putting her book down and standing to her feet, gaze moving to the boy hunched over next to the elf, clutching at his hand like a life-line.

“Lady! Lady, Kreacher's- Kreacher thought-” Kreacher struggled to speak, eyes large and frantic, and Harry was already striding towards him.

“It's alright, Kreacher; I know you wouldn't bring anyone here unless it was _important_ , okay? You can relax. Please tell me what's wrong,” she ordered calmly, placing a hand on the house-elf's shoulder and carefully _not_ touching the boy she suspected she knew the name of.

You should always try to avoid angering a house-elf if you could.

“Mistress,” Kreacher croaked, sounding even more like a bull-frog than usual with distress. “Mistress was angry and Mistress _punished_ young master Regulus,” he whispered with tangible horror.

Harry flicked a glance at the hunched over boy, who barely looked conscious.

“I'm going to put Regulus on the bed over there, alright, Kreacher? And then I need you to tell me what kind of spells she used,” she ordered shortly, jaw clenching at the thought.

Walburga Black.

That woman... Harry's temper strained at her hold on it just at the thought of her name.

Kreacher babbled near-incoherently as he trailed behind her; Harry having picked up the boy and carried him over to the aforementioned bed.

He couldn't tell her any incantations, but the descriptions of what the spells had looked like and their general effects were enough to give her a rough picture.

Harry grimly set to work.

It was lucky she'd gone by Diagon to stock up on potions ingredients, because Regulus seemed to be in quite a state.

There wasn't any visible signs, other than his glazed eyes and mostly unconscious form, but magic could leave far worse marks than purely physical ones.

For a mother to do something like this to her own child! To her _children_.

It made Harry furious and feel like she wanted to weep at the same time.

And what was Orion doing about this? Had he just been watching? Had he been out of the house? Or had he been utterly uninterested in the well-fare of his youngest son?

As long as he had his Heir and a spare, everything was nice and dandy?

Harry frowned and focused on the diagnostic spell she was casting on the boy.

 _Merlin_ , he looked young.

If Sirius had fled to the Potters just a few weeks ago, then that meant Regulus couldn't be more than fifteen years old.

He looked younger to Harry, face looking almost peaceful, features clean and aristocratic, though there was quite a bit of puppy-fat left to soften sharp cheekbones.

She worked on him for close to an hour, a frown firmly on her face the whole time.

When she had enough time to check on him, Kreacher was sobbing quietly into his hands next to the bed, looking like he was terrified Regulus wouldn't live to see the next morning.

“He'll be fine, Kreacher,” she told him as gently as she could. “He's not going back to that place, though, so you should know that you can come check up on him as often as you'd like.”

Kreacher sobbed harder and threw himself at her knees in a clumsy attempt at a hug.

Harry awkwardly bent down to pat his bony shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting manner.

“Kreacher will do as his Lady says,” the house-elf finally declared wetly, wiping snot from his nose onto his arm.

Harry suppressed a grimace and did her best to smile encouragingly.

“Remember; you don't know where Regulus decided to go. He made his way out of the house on his own and you didn't dare follow him, understood?”

“Yes, Lady,” Kreacher returned, red-rimmed eyes gleaming with more than just tears.

With one last, long look at Regulus tucked down into the bed, sleeping peacefully now, he popped away.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, turned to stare at the boy suddenly in her care and pulled a hand through her hair.

Now _this_ was something she hadn't anticipated happening in a million years.

-x-x-x-

Alastor flooed into Albus' office and stalked straight to the chair in front of his desk.

“There's a new piece on the chessboard,” he said gruffly by way of greeting.

Albus looked up from the official-looking document he had been perusing, a distracted look on his face. It quickly cleared when he saw Alastor's expression.

“...What makes you say so?” Albus inquired, a weary quality to his voice that made Alastor wonder how much sleep his old friend had gotten lately.

“There's been someone interfering with the last few Death Eater raids,” Alastor huffed irritably, scowling at the delicate teacup Albus placed before him. “Don't know who it is, but he's been all over the place. People at the Ministry are _gossiping_ ,” he spat.

As if they didn't have enough to worry about already! Yet people were taking the time to gossip with each other like bored old crones.

“And this wizard is targeting the Death Eaters specifically?” Albus asked with a slight frown, rifling through the parchments on his desk for one in particular.

“There's been one incident where he cursed an Auror, but it was chaotic and I haven't been able to determine if it was an accident or not.” Alastor scowled unhappily.

That had been one of the messier raids. Hadn't helped that the Death Eaters had seemed to know they were coming.

Either way, the implications were worrying.

“Why is this so urgent, Alastor?” Albus finally asked, having taken a lengthy sip of his tea.

“The Order needs to know that there's someone out there putting their nose where it doesn't belong, and he's going to get people killed!” Alastor exclaimed harshly, just barely refraining from thumping his fist against Albus' groaning desk.

Albus peered at him over the rim of his steaming cup.

“Is there a particular reason why you're in this foul a mood today?” he asked mildly.

Alastor growled, bristling at the near-coddling. “Charlus was sent to St. Mungo's last night,” he admitted darkly. “The bloody Dark Lord is targeting him specifically.”

Albus slowly lowered his cup. “Is he going to be alright?” he asked in a would-be calm voice.

Alastor eyed him knowingly, fully aware Albus had been on friendly terms with Charlus for a good long while. “He'll be right as rain in another few days,” he snorted derisively. “Thanks to our new little nuisance, he didn't lose an arm to a truly nasty curse no one has any business casting in a Muggle neighbourhood.”

It... _grated_.

Not that Charlus would be fine, obviously, but the fact that they seemed to _need_ the help of this unknown vigilante risking all their lives by blundering about.

There was a _reason_ why the Ministry encouraged people to wait for Auror assistance when possible; there were procedure and appropriate conduct to take into consideration. They couldn't mix amateurs into these things and expect any sort of positive outcome!

“Do you want me to tell the Order to be on the outlook for this person?” Albus finally asked, bringing Alastor out of his irritable thoughts.

“He could be anyone, Albus; we don't know if he's an ally or not!” he said sharply. “He might seem to be on our side right now, but that can change any moment.”

“So we wait. Any help is appreciated as the situation stands, but that doesn't mean we'll turn a blind eye _if_ this turns out to be some sort of ploy,” Albus said in that irritatingly calm manner of his. “People are dying, Alastor; we can't be everywhere at once, and the Ministry as a whole is getting less...” he trailed off, searching for an appropriate word, “ _reliable_ , as the days go by.” He gave him a significant look.

Alastor didn't want to consider it, but the proof was piling up.

 _Spies_ in the Ministry! People working in the magical government who had sided with that self-proclaimed Lord!

It made Alastor's blood boil, but there wasn't really any ground left to stand on for denials.

“You think I don't know that?” he asked, narrowing his eye at his friend, the artificial eye he'd gotten himself just last year continuing its lazy spinning. “Albus, something needs to be done, and soon,” he said quietly, frowning down at his tea. “The Aurors are running themselves ragged and we're already spread too thin. We can't deal with a two-front war.”

“From what you've told me, there's nothing indicating this is a third faction; it's just one person, Alastor.”

“So far, you mean,” Alastor pointed out shrewdly.

“It could just as well be someone who've been targeted by Voldemort in the past,” Albus sighed, raising one hand to his face to push up his glasses and rub at his eyes. “We cannot afford to get distracted, or we'll be overrun.”

Alastor scoffed, though he knew it was true.

With that taken care of, the both of them turned to the next issue at hand.

“We're going to have to hold another meeting soon,” Albus said, finally handing Alastor the piece of parchment he had been looking for earlier and turning the conversation to the subject they had initially been intending to discuss.

-x-x-x-

Her patient slept through the night and most of the following day.

Harry had moved an armchair into the bedroom and next to the bed, so she could keep an eye on the boy while she continued her research.

Kreacher popped in every other hour to check up on the both of them, plying Harry with more food than she knew what to do with.

Regulus slept peacefully through it all, until the dark hours before dawn, when he began to stir sluggishly.

Harry only noticed because of the way his fingers tightened on hers.

He'd looked so small and alone, she hadn't been able to stop herself from grasping his lax hand. Despite the fact they looked nothing alike, he reminded her of Teddy.

Jolting from the light doze she'd fallen into, Harry instantly focused on Regulus.

There was a slight frown pulling on his brows and his eyes were moving rapidly back and forth beneath their lids.

He was clearly dreaming, and it didn't seem like it was about anything nice.

Leaning forward in her seat, Harry smoothed a hand over his damp forehead, pushing his hair out of his face with a quiet hum.

“Sir'us,” he slurred under his breath, barely audible.

Harry smiled sadly and placed a cold compress on his forehead.

The poor kid; he'd no doubt be confused and frightened when he woke up, but Harry would do her best to make sure he'd end up better off than the fate she remembered. If that meant she had to contact the Potters on his behalf, so that he might potentially be with his brother, or if he'd prefer one of his own friends, then so be it.

Harry would do everything in her power to make it happen.

These two children... the world hadn't treated either of them kindly.

She couldn't do much about her own situation, but... she might be able to help them, and others, this war would otherwise turn into nothing more than tragic victims.

With a small sigh, Harry leaned back in her chair, firmed her hold on Regulus' hand and settled in for a few more hours.

She could sit here and watch over him at least until the sun rose.

-x-x-x-

Regulus woke up feeling like he'd been mauled by a furious hippogriff.

His whole body ached, and for a moment, he had no idea where he was or what had happened.

A moment later, the memories of his mother shrieking at him, hurling abuse and a delicate vase -amongst other things- at him returned, which solved one mystery.

That still didn't tell him anything about where he was, because he certainly wasn't lying in his own bed, in his bedroom back home.

Pushing himself into a seated position with a quiet groan, Regulus gave a pained grimace and looked around.

He was in a... tent?

He squinted up at the canvas ceiling with growing disbelief.

What sort of hallucination was this? What kind of spell had his mother cast on him?

A distant clatter made him jump, wincing at the way the sudden movement made his body protest.

Regulus glanced around the small bedroom he was in, eyes landing on the open door.

The noise was coming from out there.

Frantically turning to look himself over, Regulus noted that he was still wearing the same clothes he could remember wearing, only sans shoes.

Which were stood on the floor beside the bed.

Regulus slipped his feet into them at the same time as he felt for- ah, he still had his wand.

Thank Merlin.

Fingers wrapped securely around his wand, shoes on his feet, Regulus slowly walked out of the bedroom into the... sitting room of the tent.

It was sparsely decorated, nothing fancy.

The furniture was sturdy and serviceable, though it was the kind that would have made his parents scoff and sneer. Mismatched and eclectic.

There were plenty of pictures on the walls but they weren't what held Regulus' attention.

What he was focusing on was the person he could hear moving about in what he assumed was the kitchen. He could see a bit of the room from where he was standing, but he could also see the opening to the tent.

The question was, what to do?

Should he see who the supposed owner of the tent was? Or should he make a run for it while he still could?

Regulus... wasn't brave, not like Sirius. He wasn't a Gryffindor.

The lure of the outside was strong but, could he really afford to not at least check? What if this person chased after him?

A small part of his mind whispered about the wand still on his person, the shoes and the open door; if this person had intended to keep him here against his wishes, there were a lot of ways they could have gone about it.

With a deep breath, Regulus approached the kitchen.

Head held high and ignoring the slight tremble to his hands, he stepped into the doorway to the kitchen, gaze falling on the back of a woman.

Regulus blinked.

His wand hand fell until it pointed mostly at the floor in surprise.

“You shouldn't lower your wand until you're absolutely certain there isn't any danger,” the woman said, not even looking up from what she was doing.

Regulus tensed, wand rising as if of its own accord at her words.

He took a step closer.

“Who are you? Why am I here?” he asked, unsure which question he wanted answered first.

“Kreacher brought you here,” she said simply. “He was quite distraught with the state your mother left you in, and not knowing what else to do, brought you to me.”

Regulus felt like scoffing. Kreacher was a Black elf, and didn't answer to -or even _know_ \- anyone outside of his family. What this woman was saying was preposterous.

“He's due to pop in any time now to check on you,” she added lightly, finally turning around.

Regulus couldn't tear his gaze away.

Her eyes were bright green, unlike anything he'd ever seen; more remarkable even than Evans' eyes in his brother's year and House.

The second thing catching his attention was the scar.

That, too, was something he'd never seen the like of before. What had caused it, he wondered.

Lines like a flash of lightning snaked across her face, starting on her forehead, above her right eye, intersecting both eyebrows, eyelids, to end unevenly on her cheeks, more on one side than the other.

She smiled at him, eyes warm and sincere.

It made Regulus' skin crawl.

“Then I take it you wouldn't mind if I called on Kreacher to verify your story?” he asked, trying to maintain the cold, detached voice he'd all but perfected during his years at Hogwarts. Not entirely successfully.

“He'll be ecstatic,” she said, waving one hand at him as if to say to go ahead, and then turned back to whatever it was she was doing at the counter.

Before Regulus could so much as open his mouth, the woman placed a plate of scrambled eggs, fried bacon, fresh bread rolls and cooked beans in front of him. There were four slices of tomato on the edge of it all, with a small pile of fresh greens.

Regulus blinked.

“I suppose Kreacher will be upset with me again,” the woman mused, staring amusedly at the food. Then she shrugged and stepped over to the sink, where she began to do the dishes.

By hand.

Regulus stared, having quite forgotten what he'd been about to do.

A second later, he shook his head and firmed his hold on his wand. “Kreacher!” he called clearly.

He'd barely finished speaking the name when Kreacher appeared with a loud pop right beside him, already sobbing.

“Young master Regulus!” the house-elf wailed, throwing himself at Regulus, who caught him in a relieved embrace. “You're alright again,” Kreacher sobbed.

“I'm alright,” Regulus promised softly, comforting the old elf with tangible relief.

With Kreacher here, he felt far more secure.

It took almost ten minutes of assurances and promises that he was _fine_ , before Kreacher calmed enough for a proper conversation.

“Kreacher, who is this woman?” he asked quietly, throwing a glance at the person in question, who was still... doing the dishes. For some reason.

“Lady is the Lady Black, young master,” Kreacher told him, as if in confidence. Then the elf looked over at the woman and gave an indignant shriek, causing the woman -who he still didn't know the name of- to step back from the sink with a laugh, hands raised disarmingly. “Lady shouldn't be dirtying Lady's hands with _dishes_!”

Kreacher sounded _outraged_.

“But Kreacher, would you have preferred to let young Regulus go hungry?” she asked innocently, smiling sweetly at the irate house-elf, suds slowly sliding down her forearms from the hands she'd raised in the air, as if Kreacher was holding her at wand-point.

“Lady agreed to call on Kreacher for doing the clean-up, even when she,” he paused for a distasteful, pained grimace, “does the cooking for herself!”

“Yes, yes, I know,” the woman said lightly, as if she didn't have any intention of doing any such thing.

By the look of it, Kreacher knew it, too.

The house-elf scowled and snapped his fingers, his magic finishing up the dishes in a jiffy. “If nothing else, Lady should be using her _magic_ to do such things,” he sniffed disapprovingly.

“Hang on a second!” Regulus interrupted loudly in the- in the almost _domestic_ scene he found himself in. “Kreacher, what in Merlin's name do you mean, _she's the Lady Black!?_ ” he demanded, staring with wide eyes at the duo in front of him, both of whom where blinking back at him.

As if they didn't see the big deal, here.

“Lady is the Lady Black,” Kreacher repeated slowly, frowning confusedly. “Lady is Head of Family now.”

“Take a seat, Mr. Black, and I'll try to explain,” the woman sighed, sending Kreacher an unreadable look.

After she had sat down by the kitchen table, Regulus slowly followed suit, after another look at Kreacher, who didn't seem worried at all about this woman. This witch.

“Explain _what_?” Regulus asked suspiciously, not making a move towards the fork, or the food still sitting innocently in front of him.

Kreacher happily began to clean every inch of the kitchen.

“How we came to be in this situation,” the woman said evenly, all seriousness now. “What happens next.”

Before, her eyes had been warm and welcoming. Now, they were solemn and sharp, the weight of them pressing and almost uncomfortable.

“And?” Regulus prompted when she didn't say anything more.

She sighed, pulling a hand through her hair.

“Due to a series of absurd circumstances, I am something like the Lady Black,” she said calmly, as if there wasn't anything strange about that.

“ _Is_ Lady Black now,” Kreacher piped up, making the woman send him another unreadable glance.

“Right,” she sighed, not looking particularly pleased. “I suppose I _am_ the Lady Black now.” She frowned, one hand slowly drifting up to her chest. “That's what this feeling is.”

Regulus' eyes slowly widened as the sheer _implications_ of what she was saying sank in.

“The Family Magicks chose you?” he whispered to himself.

“Before, it was like the position was shared between me and your father. After the blatant neglect and disregard of his own heirs, the future of his family, all but casting the next generation from house and home...” She scowled, the pressure in the room seemingly rising. “I am the sole Head now, it seems.”

Which changed things.

Regulus had to take a moment to digest just how... _monumental_ that was.

Father wasn't the Head of the Family any more?

Did he _know that?_

And what about grandfather?

Regulus had so many questions he didn't even know where to start.

“And- And what about the other part?” he finally asked, mouth dry.

“Ah, yes. What happens now,” she said, folding her hands together on the table in front of her, looking like she was seated by an office desk, rather than in a tent kitchen. “That, is entirely up to you, Mr. Black.”

“What do you mean?” he couldn't help but ask.

“I can contact the Potters for you, inquire if it could be possible for you to stay under the same roof as your brother,” she said quietly. “Or I could reach out to anyone else you'd prefer.”

Regulus didn't know what to say.

He'd never been given a _choice_ before. Not about anything.

He'd been told how to walk, talk, _think_ since he was old enough to remember. Hadn't even been allowed to choose what to wear; _everything_ had been decided by people other than himself.

He'd had hopes that it would have gotten better at Hogwarts, but it had turned out to be a fool's hope.

He hadn't had a choice in House, and consequently what people thought of him. How they treated him.

Regulus had wanted to _beg_ the Sorting Hat to place him with his brother, but he hadn't had the courage. The memory of father beating Sirius in front of the rest of the family for _daring_ to get placed in Gryffindor the first time he'd returned home had been... _vivid_.

So there hadn't been a choice there, either.

All of Regulus' life had been dictated, by his mother, by father, by everything and anything outside of his influence.

And now...

“I don't-” Regulus had to clear his throat. “I don't really have any friends,” he admitted quietly, too shocked to censure his words as he normally would have.

There were plenty of people who wanted to suck up to him; after Sirius had proven himself to be _unworthy_ of the title of Heir Black, all the brown-nosing blood-suckers turned to him instead.

There were plenty of acquaintances, but there were few people in Slytherin House that were willing to risk initiating a potential friendship in the current political climate.

“That's alright. Perhaps you'd like to stay with another family member, then?” the woman inquired, not a hint of pity or judgement in her voice, but chances were she was merely an excellent actor.

Regulus shook his head. “There's- no one.”

Which was sad. Regulus knew it was.

The only one he'd had was Sirius. Who had finally been chased out of the house, and Regulus had helped him leave.

He'd had the chance to go with him, but...

Regulus hadn't been a very good brother lately. He wondered if some part of him hadn't felt he deserved it. Staying. Taking the brunt of-

“Then you can stay with me until you think of something else. Or just until you go back to Hogwarts for the new term. Either way is fine by me,” she mused, a thoughtful frown pulling on her brows.

“What about my parents?” Regulus asked faintly, unable to wrap his head around the fact that this seemed to be happening.

“Don't worry about that; I'll take care of it.” She grinned.

It wasn't a nice expression, and despite the fact that it wasn't aimed at Regulus -at all- he felt a slight shiver down his spine.

“That,” he swallowed nervously, “doesn't sound like a good idea.”

The woman leaned forward in her seat. “I can take care of myself,” she said. Simple as that.

Did she know anything about the Black family? Regulus couldn't help but wonder, slightly hysterically. The level of irreverence alone would infuriate Father like nothing else.

“You should eat your food, Mr. Black, while I set up a room for your stay, okay?” the woman said, getting to her feet and striding off, all cheer again.

Regulus numbly picked up the fork he had been provided with, head feeling unnaturally empty as he took his first bite of scrambled eggs.

She hadn't even told him her name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up right where we left off

Harry quickly and efficiently prepared the other bedroom for Regulus' use.

What the hell was she supposed to do!?

She hadn't planned to- No. She hadn't planned for this whole cluster-fuck to begin with. Being _here_ hadn't been something she'd anticipated. Ever.

Adding a kid to the mix, well. That was just her life, wasn't it?

Smiling grimly to herself, Harry finished up and considered what needed to be done.

First thing first, Regulus needed his things. Clothes if nothing else. She _could_ send Kreacher, of course, but that wouldn't leave quite the same impact.

And with Walburga Black, _impact_ was vital.

She didn't have any experience with Orion Black, through portrait or otherwise, so she couldn't speak for him, but shows of power tended to be effective with wizards.

Nodding to herself, Harry picked up her cloak and walked back into the kitchen, where Regulus seemed to have finished his meal, leaving the plate scraped clean.

“Here,” she said, placing a large glass of water in front of him. “You've slept for more than a day; you're probably dehydrated.”

Regulus obligingly downed the whole thing and then looked her over, his storm-grey eyes painfully familiar.

They were achingly similar to his brother's.

“Where are you going?” he asked, gaze flicking down to the cloak draped over her arm briefly, before returning to her eyes.

She raised a pointed eyebrow, watching Regulus' eyes widen in response.

“Now? You're going right _now?_ ” he asked breathlessly, looking frozen on the spot.

“Would you like to come with me, or stay here?” she asked calmly, prepared to be patient; it had been a lot to take in already for the boy.

Regulus looked floored by the question, and she sympathized with him, she really did.

Why did so many adults have to be so bad at their job? Taking care of children didn't automatically mean to keep them in the dark and decide everything _for_ them.

Yeah, they didn't always know best, but they generally weren't _stupid_.

“Are you sure they won't be able to make me stay?” Regulus asked quietly five minutes later.

Harry blinked. “I swear.” She grinned sharply. She'd rather kill herself first, and that would always be the very last resort.

“Then I'll come with you,” Regulus said, en ever so slight tremble to his voice.

Harry nodded, transfigured a napkin into a simple travelling cloak and handed it to the boy. Then, she swung her own, much fancier cloak, around her shoulders, pulled up the hood and waited for Regulus to do the same.

“What-?” He stared confusedly at the impenetrable shadows where her face had been a second earlier.

“I've got a very memorable face.” Harry shrugged. “It's a special cloak; I got it as a gift from a friend.”

And that was that.

Harry led the way out of the tent, a cloaked Regulus hot on her heels.

She walked through the wards, pulled on her gloves and held a hand out for Regulus, Kreacher watching anxiously a small distance away, having soundlessly followed them.

“Kreacher, it's better if you go back now. You can always come here whenever you want to afterwards, okay?”

Kreacher nodded and popped away.

“Have you ever Side-Along Apparated before?” she asked Regulus, who shook his head. “It's uncomfortable, but it'll be over in a heartbeat. Take a deep breath,” she advised, and then turned on the spot.

.

They appeared in the park close to Grimmauld Place, and Harry gave Regulus a minute to recover his breath and equilibrium.

The first few times of Side-Along _sucked_.

“Is Apparition that bad, too?” the boy eventually asked in a mutter, as soon as he'd straightened up, peering at her from beneath the hood of his cloak.

“Not quite, but it's not exactly comfortable.” She shrugged. “You get used to it after a while.”

“Terrific,” Regulus mumbled, following her when she began to walk, striding through the glum park with a clear destination in mind.

It didn't take long to reach the house, and... it almost felt weird that it wasn't hidden by a Fidelius, to be honest.

“Cheerful,” Harry huffed, walking up to the door with hardly a pause.

She was sure she heard Regulus give a small snort behind her and her mouth stretched in a small, pleased smile in response.

She didn't bother knocking, or ringing the doorbell. She merely strode inside, the door opening on its own for the Lady of the House of Black.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, Harry observed the room. It was... far less dilapidated than she'd been half expecting, holding a stuffy sort of grandeur, even. Sure, the décor was dark and, in her opinion, _tacky_ , but still perfectly serviceable.

There wasn't a speck of dust to be seen.

Kreacher sure was an effective elf when he was motivated enough. But then again, she'd already known that.

“Alert the residents of this house they have visitors,” she ordered, as always marvelling at the voice-altering spells woven into the cloak. Luna was a considerate genius and Harry would love her until she ceased drawing breath. Probably longer still.

One of the portraits on the wall, a stately-looking wizard, nodded and walked out of his frame.

She could feel Regulus fidget nervously behind her, but he stilled the moment they heard steps approaching quickly on the stairs.

That'd been quick, she mused wryly.

“What is the meaning of this,” a male voice hissed darkly.

Regulus flinched minutely, and Harry's temper cooled several degrees.

“I'm here to alert you to the situation,” she said coldly, fixing her gaze on the handsome man in front of her. Or, it would be better to say he would have been handsome, if it hadn't been for the ugly look on his face and the feel to his magic.

“Situation?” Orion Black spat aggressively, wand already in hand. “You have the nerve to invade my home? Do you have _any_ idea who I am?” he asked, voice sharp and jagged.

“You are Orion Black,” Harry said frostily. “And I am the Head of the Black Family.”

She could only describe the noise Orion produced as a furious growl.

She'd erected a shield around herself and Regulus before the man had raised his wand, and it absorbed the nasty-looking curse without a sound, letting the foreign magic assimilate into itself, making it stronger.

It was one of the more powerful shields Harry could produce, though the clear down-side was that the power necessary to cast it was ridiculous -which wasn't an issue for Harry- and that you couldn't fire anything from behind it. It would just be absorbed.

“I'm here for you to listen,” Harry said evenly, an edge of steel in her voice. “Neither of your sons are your concern any longer. You've been neglectful of your duties to the degree the Family Magicks have forsaken you.”

There was an outraged shriek the likes of which Harry hadn't heard since, oh, she burned Walburga's portrait off the wall of this very hallway.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, YOU INTERLOPER!?” Walburga Black screamed like a harpy, and even though she was clearly younger, she looked remarkably similar to her future portrait. “BLOOD-TRAITOR!” the woman hurled at her next, which was interesting, because Harry hadn't said a word to her, not to mention divulged her blood-status.

“Silence yourself, woman,” Orion said, voice quiet. His face was absolutely ashen and he hadn't looked away from Harry for so much as a second.

Walburga's mouth snapped shut instantly.

Huh.

“Family Magicks not responding to you?” Harry asked mildly, not letting her shield drop. “Here is what is going to happen. Regulus is my responsibility from now on. He's going to collect his belongings, and unless he wants it, you're never going to get near him again. Understood?” She laid down the law. “I'm perfectly content to leave the two of you to your lives, so long as you don't get in my way; you can keep your house, your social lives -whatever they may be- and go on pretending nothing has changed.”

Which was incredibly generous of her, but Harry frankly had bigger issues to deal with than Orion and Walburga Black.

“Regulus?” Orion asked sharply, and Harry wondered if he'd even realised Regulus had left.

The man's gaze slid past Harry's shoulder and landed on the kid in the cloak behind her.

Harry shifted her stance to block him from view, the tension practically radiating off of his form.

“What are you doing with _my son_?” Orion demanded.

The way he'd said it made it sound like she'd stolen a possession from him.

“I found him, half-dead. I nursed him back to health and I'm going to make sure he stays as far away from the two of you as he possibly can, so that he may survive to adulthood and continue the Black Family line for another generation,” Harry said mildly, reaching back to give Regulus' arm a comforting squeeze.

She may have laid it on just a touch too thick, but all in all, it hadn't been too far off from the truth.

If Regulus hadn't received the necessary care, he could have ended up with permanent marks. One of the spells on him had been a nasty piece of work.

Orion stood frozen before her for several seconds, his face a blank mask.

His gaze flicked to Walburga, to Harry, and then back to his wife.

“Ignorance is not an acceptable excuse,” she said, voice as friendly as an arctic blizzard. “We'll collect Regulus' belongings and then be out of your lives.”

Orion gave a stiff, jerky nod, stepping back to let them pass.

At least he was intelligent enough to realise when he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Harry kept up the shield and strode past, up the stairs and past Walburga, who was pressed through the door to the parlour by her shield. Which the woman gave an outraged shriek about.

“Your room,” she murmured to Regulus, who nudged her in the right direction.

She wasn't supposed to know where anything in this house was located, and it was best to keep up appearances, even with Regulus.

Opening the door to Regulus' room, they found Kreacher was waiting for them, wringing his hands, standing next to the boy's school trunk and a handful of boxes, all of which seemed to contain everything Regulus owned.

The room itself had been stripped bare.

Harry shrunk it with a wave of her wand, gave the house-elf a grateful nod, pocketed everything and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Regulus said quietly.

Harry paused, sending him a questioning look.

“Can we get my brother's things, too?” the boy asked, voice hushed.

She tilted her head, considering it. Storage wasn't an issue with magic at hand.

“Lead the way.” She nodded at the door. “Kreacher?” She glanced at the house-elf.

Kreacher grimaced with clear distaste, but dutifully popped ahead of them.

Progress!

She'd get through to him eventually, she thought optimistically.

Not that this situation wasn't absurd enough to begin with, so why not just add another thing to the list?

Sirius' room was cleaned out to the best of Kreacher's abilities, and then they were done.

Harry and Regulus marched out of Grimmauld Place unmolested, their goals achieved and, hopefully, with Orion Black perfectly clear on how things would be from now on. Harry would be happy if he managed to keep his wife in check, but she wasn't betting on it.

She'd deal with that when the issue arose.

“Now, let's go home,” Harry said, holding out her hand to a wide-eyed, shell-shocked Regulus, who blindly reached to take it, missing the first time.

-x-x-x-

Regulus moved as if in a daze.

The moment they got back to the tent, the woman led him to what was to be his new room, guided him to sit on the bed, placed his un-shrunk belongings on the floor next to him, and then quietly left him to absorb the astronomical changes that had happened over-night.

The door closed with a gentle click.

Part of him was waiting for the slide of a lock that never came.

With a small, quiet, disbelieving laugh, Regulus pulled the cloak from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, the transfigured material sliding from between numb fingers.

He was... He was out of that place.

He didn't have to go back. Ever. Not unless he _wanted_ to.

Regulus couldn't- and he didn't even know the name of this woman.

Why was she- what was in it for her?

She didn't gain _anything_ from having Regulus here. If anything, he was a burden. She was already the Lady Black, so it wasn't like she was doing it for the political gain.

Regulus pulled his hands through his hair, wondering where to _start_ digesting all of this.

What was he even supposed to do from now on? School didn't start until a month and a half from now.

He was so lost in thought he didn't even think to look at his things until an hour later.

.

Settling into life with Harry -she'd finally gotten around to introducing herself over dinner that first night- was awkward.

Mostly because Regulus didn't have the first clue about what to do with himself.

Harry tried to make it better as best she could, but Regulus could admit he wasn't making it easy.

She was... _strange_. That word just about summed her up.

Harry was _nothing_ like the people he was used to interacting with. She didn't seem to have an angle when she talked to him, she gave him space without him having to say a word about it. She cooked him food, she chatted at him while she worked in the kitchen.

It took an embarrassingly long time for him to realise she tended to disappear abruptly for various lengths of time.

He could only blame it on everything that had happened; he was still trying to catch up to it, most of the time.

He hadn't realised how _trapped_ he'd felt in Grimmauld Place until he'd escaped that house for good.

The freedom he now enjoyed, even while living in a tent. Just the fact that he no longer dreaded the inescapable inevitability of having to leave his room was a blessing.

He could grab something to eat from the cold-box whenever he felt like it and Harry didn't so much as bat an eye.

He could even go outside without saying a word to anyone, though Harry had advised him not to leave the wards, as that would make it near-impossible to find the tent again.

Regulus had seen the sense in it, and hadn't ventured far yet. He hadn't even gotten a chance to get bored yet, since Harry was the owner of an extensive library.

That she'd given him free range of.

But back to the mystery of Harry's strange disappearances.

Regulus hadn't quite worked up the courage to ask her about it yet, even though the few questions he'd tentatively asked her had been met with nothing more than happily given answers.

To be honest, she seemed thrilled whenever Regulus asked anything of her. Like he was doing her a favour. And she hadn't brushed him off even once, even when he'd asked something stupid.

He was... curious.

He'd asked Kreacher where she disappeared off to, but the elf had merely told him he couldn't 'divulge the Lady's business'. Which made sense; it was only wise to make sure no one else would spill your secrets.

Even if it was just a house-elf.

Regulus got out of bed with a shaky breath, pulling a hand through his sweaty hair and staggered to his feet.

Water.

He needed water.

Trudging out into the dark kitchen, he just about jumped out of his skin when something by the kitchen table moved.

“ _Merlin-_!”

“My apologies,” Harry said calmly, raising a steaming cup of tea to her mouth for a sip. “Tea?” she asked, not looking like she was going to ask what he was doing up this time of night.

Regulus didn't even know what the exact time was.

“...yes, thank you,” he accepted quietly, watching a teacup come floating over from the kitchen counter on its own.

Harry stared off into the distance, making him wonder what it was she was seeing. For all that he had been living with her for a little over two weeks now, he realised that he didn't know anything about her.

She hadn't so much as glanced at him since he'd walked into the room.

“Nightmares?” she asked idly an indefinable time later, making him jump and look up from his tea. “That's okay, I get them, too,” Harry murmured, not waiting for him to respond.

Regulus stared. “What do you have to have nightmares about?”

The words just... slipped out, and for a moment, he was horrified with himself.

Despite what he'd feared, that he'd finally crossed that invisible line, Harry just laughed softly.

It didn't sound like a very happy laugh.

“Life?” she mused absently, a small, wry smile on her lips.

The kitchen was silent for a long few minutes, Harry pouring the both of them more tea without asking.

When she'd finished her cup, Harry stood abruptly, making Regulus look up.

“I'm baking a cake,” she declared, seemingly to no one in particular. “Wanna help?”

“I... don't know how to bake,” Regulus responded slowly, blinking at the woman a few times and wondering if he had fallen asleep.

“Then I'll teach you,” she said firmly, dragging him over to the counter to pull out a number of ingredients.

What followed felt like a bizarre dream, that ended with Regulus somehow covered in flour, with cake-batter on his nose, Harry laughing at him beside him and they ended the night by eating the tastiest cake Regulus had ever eaten.

It broke the ice.

After that, Harry seemed to be over the stage where she left him to his own devices.

They went to Diagon for shopping. They went to the _Muggle world_ for much of the same; something Regulus hadn't even considered possible up until that point.

First, she'd gone and gotten him appropriate clothes to fit in, though.

“I couldn't possibly wear this in public,” Regulus said, quietly horrified as he stared down on himself. “What even _are_ these?”

“They're called jeans.” Harry grinned. “And that's a t-shirt. They look good on you,” she assured him.

“I feel like I'm _naked_ ,” Regulus objected, voice a few octaves higher than it normally was.

Harry had just laughed, and proceeded to drag him on the wildest, most confusing trip in his life. Regulus was quite sure he'd made a fool of himself throughout the entire thing, but... he'd had fun.

At the end of it all, when they were back in their tent -and when had it turned into _their_ tent?- sitting at the kitchen table, Harry had pushed a notebook at him, together with a strange-looking pen.

“I've never been able to talk about my nightmares, but a friend of mine convinced me to start writing them down. It helped,” she said, a small, understanding smile on her face, and then went to unpack all the food they'd bought during their trip.

Regulus had taken the book, but it'd taken him a while before he felt comfortable enough to write in it.

Harry had been right; it helped.

-x-x-x-

Regulus looked up from his summer homework at the sound of the tent-flap opening.

Harry had disappeared off somewhere again earlier, and Regulus couldn't believe he still hadn't gotten around to ask her about it. He'd stayed with her for almost a month now, and he felt he knew her well enough to know Harry wouldn't ever... react like his parents.

The sight of Harry coming into the tent had him dropping his quill and surge to his feet.

“Harry!” he exclaimed, hurrying towards her, heart in his throat and mind blank.

The woman hissed, clutching one hand to her stomach. “Kreacher,” she spoke, voice far calmer than Regulus felt was warranted.

“You're bleeding!” Regulus couldn't help but point out, stupidly.

Of course she knew she was bleeding!

“Help me sit down,” Harry gritted out, clearly in quite a bit of pain.

Regulus hurriedly grabbed her arm and guided her to her favourite armchair, carefully assisting her to get seated.

“What happened?” he asked, just standing there, staring. Uselessly.

Harry's hands were shaking a little when she removed her cloak, folding it away from her body to reveal the full scale of the mess beneath.

There was a- a _knife_ stuck in her stomach.

A small one, looking like it'd been made to throw.

Harry's fingers tentatively prodded the area around where the knife was _embedded in her abdomen_ , and Regulus had to stop himself from slapping her hands away from it.

“Where's Kreacher? Kreacher!” Regulus called, feeling like he had frozen solid. He couldn't move.

Harry was bleeding and he was just standing here, staring at her.

“It's okay, Reggie,” Harry gasped, letting go of the handle of the knife to give him a strained smile. “Can you go get me my potions kit?”

“Yeah,” Regulus breathed, moving as if in a dream. A nightmare.

He hurried back from the bathroom, handing Harry her potions kit, gaze fixing itself on her bloodied hands.

She quickly dug up what Regulus distantly registered as a Blood-Replenishing potion, uncorked it with her teeth and downed the whole thing. And then proceeded to take a few deep breaths and unceremoniously pulled the knife from her stomach.

Regulus jerked forward, hands slightly raised, unsure if he wanted to grab her and shake her, demanding to know what in the world she thought she was doing, or try and stop an action she'd already taken.

Probably both.

The knife clattered to the floor. One of Harry's hands was pressing on the wound, and the other was curled around her wand, pointing it at her stomach as she muttered incantations under her breath.

Was she... was she _healing herself!?_

If what Regulus was seeing was true, the _yes_ , dear Merlin, she was.

Feeling slightly faint, Regulus hovered anxiously, all thoughts about Kreacher forgotten. Which was why, when the elf finally popped over, he just about jumped out of his skin and nearly cursed the being while he was at it.

“Lady!” Kreacher exclaimed, appropriately horrified by the sight that greeted him.

Harry just gave a tight smile and didn't stop concentrating on her injury. She'd stopped speaking the spells out loud by now, and was instead frowning at nothing, the wrinkle between her brows growing more and more pronounced the longer the stab wound resisted her magic.

With a growled swear, Harry bent down to grab the knife, bringing it up to her face so she could scowl at it.

“That fucking _bastard_ ,” she hissed, throwing the knife at the wall, where it buried itself in the wood. “Kreacher, help me a little here,” she said, not looking away from her own stomach.

Regulus barely noticed when she tore her ruined shirt off, exposing the blood-smeared skin of her stomach.

Kreacher all but materialised right next to her, pressing both hands down on the injury.

She was starting to look pale, but downed another Blood-Replenisher before Regulus could say anything.

What followed was more a blur than anything else, and ended with Harry tucked into her bed by a frantically worried Kreacher, wound smeared in a thick salve she had dug from her kit and carefully bandaged.

When Regulus returned to the sitting room, he couldn't help but stare at all the blood.

It looked like someone had been murdered in here, he mused blankly.

Harry's favourite chair looked to have soaked up enough blood to supply a child.

Thankfully, he didn't have to look at it for too long, because Kreacher tore through the place, snapping his fingers fast enough Regulus was slightly concerned for their continued integrity. It made short work of all the blood, though.

And then he went on to cook enough food to last them half a week, making mostly soups and easily digested dishes.

Which made sense.

Regulus was just trying to snap out of the shock.

Where had she... _How_ -?

He didn't even know why it had taken him so long to realise, but there was just really one realistic answer to that question.

Death Eaters.

He couldn't see any of the Aurors use a cursed throwing knife.

Had Harry been attacked by Death Eaters? Did they know she was the Lady Black? Was that why they'd targeted her? How had they found out?

Had his parents told the Dark Lord?

Had-

“Stop thinking so loudly, I can hear it from over here,” Harry muttered from the bed, making him blink.

Regulus absently wondered when he'd grabbed a chair and pulled it into Harry's room.

“Are you okay?” He wasn't even embarrassed about the way his voice shook.

“I'll be right as rain with a few days' rest,” Harry sighed, eyes closed and relaxed. “It'll take more than this to kill me.” She smiled, cracking one eye open to peer at him.

Regulus wasn't laughing. “That's not funny,” he said quietly. “It was Death Eaters, wasn't it?”

“I wasn't trying to be funny,” Harry replied calmly, turning her head to look at him more properly. “And yes.”

“Maybe you shouldn't go out so much any more,” Regulus suggested worriedly, biting his lower lip uncertainly.

Harry blinked at him. “Why?”

Regulus made a small, choked noise. “Because you nearly _died_ , Harry! I don't know!”

“Regulus,” Harry said, her calm voice cutting through his rising panic like a knife through butter. “I'm fine. An injury like this always looks worse than it really is,” she told him calmly. “If that knife hadn't been cursed against it, I would have had the injury healed up in no time.”

Regulus buried his face in his hands.

Could she even hear herself!?

.

The next morning, Harry ignored his attempts to keep her in bed and got up to eat breakfast with him at the kitchen table.

She was moving slowly and stiffly, but that didn't seem to discourage her one bit. Much to Regulus and Kreacher's shared despair.

“Come off it now, I just need rest and food and I'll be as good as new before you know it,” Harry scoffed, growing tired of the worried looks they kept sending her.

Regulus sighed heavily, but focused on eating his breakfast.

When he was done, Kreacher handed him a cup of tea, refilled Harry's cup and then went back to cleaning.

“Regulus, we need to talk a little,” Harry said into the comfortable silence.

Regulus looked up at the woman, trying to ignore the growing trepidation in his gut.

“About what?” he asked, trying not to let any of his emotions bleed into in his voice.

“About you living here with me,” Harry said seriously, sending Regulus into unchecked panic. “I'm not throwing you out!” she said loudly in the next second, calming him somewhat. “But I need to know that you staying here with me is still what you want, and not out of some twisted sense of obligation. Because if it is, then I can tell you right now that it isn't necessary.” She eyed him solemnly.

Regulus blinked. “I told you; I don't have anywhere else to go, and I-” he took a deep breath, “I like living here.”

Harry's lips twitched into a small smile, which he took as a promising sign. “And I like having you here. More than I thought I would.” She grinned. “You have such interesting reactions!” she teased lightly.

Regulus scowled at her. As if he could have reacted in _any other way_ to walking into the kitchen one morning, only to find Harry in what she called her 'training outfit' but Regulus felt more appropriate to call 'barely more than underwear'.

And for all that he'd been told all his life that Muggles were hardly more than dirt under his shoes, they were far more interesting than he'd ever been able to anticipate, having such fascinating things.

“In all seriousness, though,” Harry sighed, leaning back in her seat with a small, pained grimace, rubbing gingerly at her midriff. “If you want to stay with me, then I have to tell you a bit more about what it is I'm doing.”

“'Doing'?” Regulus echoed confusedly. Harry wasn't _doing_ anything in particular; she certainly didn't seem to have a job, with how much she was hanging around the...

She was talking about the times she disappeared, wasn't she?

Harry nodded. “The times I leave abruptly,” she confirmed. “Is whenever one of the wards I've placed in various places around the country get triggered by acts of violence. Which most often means Death Eater attacks.”

Her gaze was solemn and heavy, pinning him in place.

“That knife belonged to a Death Eater?” Regulus asked quietly, feeling... he wasn't sure what he felt. He'd guessed as much already, but getting confirmation was still a surprise.

“Yes.” She nodded easily, as if it wasn't that big a deal.

Regulus was silent for a long time, just staring at Harry. “Why?” he couldn't help but ask.

“Because I hate bullies. I don't think it's right for people to oppress others, just because they feel they are below them, just to make themselves feel more important. Hurting and killing people, for whatever reason, is never an acceptable option,” she said firmly, steel in her eyes. “Because it's the right thing to do, fighting against them.”

Regulus didn't know what to say. Didn't know what he _could_ say right then.

“You got hurt,” he pointed out weakly.

Harry shrugged. “I've gotten hurt loads of times, and by people both more and less evil than the bastards calling themselves Death Eaters.” She eyed him steadily. “The world isn't black and white.”

“And why are you telling me?” Regulus asked next, feeling like there was a very specific point to all of this.

“Because staying with me might get dangerous.” Harry smiled humourlessly. “Snake Face and his sycophants are growing frustrated with my continued interference, and they're going to try and up the game, so to speak. And that might mean coming after anyone and everyone close to me.” She gave him a significant look.

“So you want me to leave?” Regulus asked, feeling like the air had been spelled from his lungs.

“I want to know how you're doing in Defence,” Harry corrected glibly, looking almost disturbingly casual about the whole thing.

Regulus blinked confusedly at the non sequiteur. “Defence...?” he repeated blankly, mentally asking for clarification.

“Defence.” Harry nodded shortly. “What's your average grade in it?”

“It's... not my best subject,” Regulus admitted hesitantly.

Harry tilted her head, a considering light in her eyes. “What's your best subject?” she wondered curiously.

“Nothing, really. I'm about average in most of my classes,” Regulus said slowly, not feeling as shamefaced about it as he normally would, because Harry hadn't judged him for _anything_ so far, and he was sort of distracted.

“A jack of all trades, huh,” she mused, sounding interested. “I can work with that,” she added with a nod and pushed herself to her feet. “Come on.”

“What? Where?” Regulus startled, but quickly followed her when Harry started making her way out of the tent.

She shouldn't be moving so much!

“Just outside. And don't worry; I won't be exerting myself,” she promised easily.

When she'd walked a few paces away from the tent, she turned to face him, drawing her wand with a silly little flourish.

“Show me,” she ordered, a fierce grin on her face.

“Show you what?” Regulus asked with a sense of overwhelming trepidation.

“Your duelling skills,” Harry said, as if it should be obvious.

“Harry, you're injured!” Regulus objected, silently aghast. Her wound could re-open!

She smiled. “We'll see,” was all she said.

Figuring that there was a point behind all this, Regulus nervously pulled his wand from his robe pocket, fidgeting with it uncertainly.

Rolling her eyes, Harry sent a quick Stunner at him, forcing Regulus to scramble to erect a shield.

“You should have just stepped to the side, conserve your magic,” she said idly, sending a disarming charm next, looking like she was relaxing rather than in the midst of a mock-duel. “Fire something back!” she urged a minute later. “Don't just stand there like a sitting duck!”

Regulus was _trying_ , but he just couldn't think of a single spell to cast back at her.

Defence had never been his strong suit, and it wasn't like their classes had been smooth and consistent, what with a new professor every year!

“I'm _trying_ ,” he snapped, nerves feeling more than a little frayed.

When he finally got around to firing spells back, he was dismayed to realise it was mainly harmless jinxes and hexes, all of which Harry flicked away without any effort or pause.

At the end of it, Regulus was panting, while Harry looked like she'd just been standing around, enjoying the sunshine.

Which wasn't all that far from the truth, to be honest.

“Okay, let's go back to the kitchen,” Harry said when Regulus had gotten a chance to regain his breath.

Feeling disheartened and severely discouraged, he trudged after her.

He hadn't even been able to make her take a step in any direction. Or wipe the amused smile from her face.

“So there's a lot to work on,” Harry told him lightly, sending him an encouraging smile. “First of all, you're going to make a list of five spells to build the base of your battle repertoire of offensive and defensive spells,” she said.

“What?” Regulus frowned confusedly. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“You choose a handful of spells to begin with,” Harry said seriously. “You have to know them well enough not to have to think about it while casting. Like I started with the Expelliarmus-” Regulus made a disbelieving sound, making Harry laugh. And then wince, as it no doubt stressed her wound. “Oh, yes! It's surprisingly effective in battle, because like you just proved, no one expects it in a real fight, and most witches and wizards are largely useless without a wand.” She smirked at him.

Regulus silently had to concede the point.

“The Patronus, too, which I will teach you before school. Even if you can't use it in front of a Dementor, it's useful to send messages. The Progeto charm is a good, basic shield, and then you get to pick two more.”

“Which ones did you have?” Regulus asked, feeling a bit numb. Still trying to digest all of this.

“Hm. The blasting curse and Stunners,” she mused, looking thoughtful.

Which sounded like it made sense, Regulus mentally admitted. “Why, though,” he couldn't help but ask.

This would certainly help him get a better grade on his Defence OWL, but...

“I don't want you to have to fight,” Harry told him seriously. “But war doesn't distinguish between adults and children, and I'd much rather you have the knowledge without having to use it, than find yourself in a situation without knowing how to defend yourself and the people around you.”

Ah.

Phrased like that, Regulus couldn't deny the sense of it. “So you're teaching me duelling,” he summed up blankly.

Harry nodded. “We need to work on your casting, your footwork, and your stamina, too,” she added, as if to herself. “Then start from scratch on the Patronus; I suppose you haven't covered it in class?”

Regulus shook his head. “Not until the last year, generally.”

Harry got a sharp, speculative glint in her eyes. “We'll be very busy for a while, and I'll give you a book I want you to read.”

All Regulus could do was nod, silently wondering how he'd ended up here. A year ago, this hadn't seemed like a possible place for him, even remotely.

Living with someone who obviously gave a damn about him and wanted him to be as well-equipped to deal with life as possible.

“We'll also continue your cooking lessons,” Harry added with a cheerful smile.

Regulus grimaced. “I still don't understand why you're insisting on that.”

“If you know how much effort goes into making something, you appreciate it more. And as with most other things, it's better to have the knowledge and not have to use it, than standing there one day, realising you don't know anything and wishing you'd taken the time to learn,” Harry explained kindly, smiling encouragingly at him. “It sounds like much, but I'll do my best to make it fun,” she promised.

Regulus snorted. The 'cooking-lessons' she'd referred to, couldn't have felt further from a formal class if it'd tried.

It was always Harry dragging him into the kitchen and basically starting a food-fight with him. He still wasn't sure how it always resulted in some sort of meal, even when it felt like he hadn't done anything special.

-x-x-x-


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a Plan

As promised, Harry was back to her normal self in a couple of days.

She felt fine, with nothing more than a new scar to add to the ever-growing collection, but Regulus and Kreacher continued to send her worried looks when they thought she couldn't see them.

It made her want to roll her eyes.

Not that Regulus had time for much other than the assignments she set him.

She wasn't working him too hard, because he was supposed to have summer holiday, but he seemed to enjoy most of it, finding the research fascinating, if nothing else.

And with some careful guidance, he took to the spell-work and duelling practice with encouraging gusto.

Harry was very well aware that not everyone had as easy a time with Defence like she did – Ron and Neville had been happy to remind her as often as needed – so she made her best to keep it in mind. Regulus still did better than anticipated, considering his age and starting point.

His attitude was much better than some of the Aurors she'd trained over the years, too.

“Okay, that's enough for today,” Harry said, clapping her hands together, watching the silvery mist dissipate as Regulus let go of the charm.

The boy took a deep, tired breath.

“Harry, how old are you?” he asked, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

He was wearing Muggle sweat pants and a simple, long-sleeved shirt, looking as comfortable in them as anything else.

Harry was feeling smug, almost wanting to buy herself a camera to take pictures and send to Walburga, if only to make the woman as miserable as possible.

“Oh, uh, twenty-seven? Or it might actually be twenty-eight by now,” she answered, blinking a bit, caught largely off guard by the question.

“And how old were you when you learned this spell?” Regulus demanded to know, looking disgruntled, frowning accusingly down at his wand. As if it was at fault for his lack of success.

Harry laughed a little. “Thirteen, but I was highly motivated to learn.” She shrugged at the shocked look Regulus sent her in response.

“There were a lot of Dementors around where I stayed at the time, and I was more sensitive to them than I was comfortable with,” she explained. “It didn't help that Boggarts turn into Dementors for me, either.”

“Are you that afraid of them?” Regulus asked thoughtfully.

“Not really,” Harry sighed, scratching absently at the scar on one of her cheeks. “It's fear itself. I'm afraid that _fear_ will make me hesitate and make me lose someone dear to me. My biggest fear, ironically enough, is fear.” She smiled. “A Dementor is just a physical representation of that.”

Regulus absently tucked away his wand and accepted the piece of chocolate Harry handed him.

Even without a Boggart-Dementor around, it had turned into something of a tradition. A small treat as reward for the stubborn effort, if nothing else.

It was how Harry had learned, too.

“You've worked hard the last few days; what do you say about doing something fun?” Harry asked when Regulus had finished the chocolate and gulped down half a bottle of water.

The boy blinked. “Most of the things we do are fun,” he said bluntly, as if he wasn't sure what she was fishing for.

Harry smiled. “I'm glad to hear you think so, but I was thinking more along the lines of flying.”

Regulus squinted at her. “Do you even have brooms here? I haven't seen any,” he muttered, looking far more suspicious than was necessary.

“Slytherins,” Harry sighed good-naturedly. Always such pessimists, but at least they were fun to mess with.

Which might be why Regulus was looking at her like that, granted.

Tossing him his cloak – Harry had long since gotten him a proper one – and putting on her own, but leaving the hood down for now, she dragged Regulus out of the tent.

Much to his irritation.

“I still don't see any brooms,” he huffed, frowning at her and clasping the cloak at the base of his throat.

“Who ever said anything about brooms? I asked if you wanted to go flying,” Harry said breezily, sending him a smirk and a playful wink and then concentrated enough to _shift_.

Landing on four feet, Harry shook out her wings and feathers, flicked her tail and ears, and then turned to give Regulus an amused look.

He was gaping at her. Staring with wide eyes, quite blatantly speechless.

Harry all but preened.

Chittering with amusement, she pranced in a circle around him, the boy turning on the spot to keep her in his sight, still unable to form coherent words. Or close his mouth.

She'd been sceptical at best when Hermione had first put forth the suggestion of becoming Animagi to her.

The only reason Harry could remain sane – with her kind of life – had been in the form of projects, and she'd just recently finished her latest one, at the time, and had been in dire need of a new one.

Which Hermione had monopolized on, crafty woman that she was.

That they would be working closely with Minerva had merely been the icing on the cake.

The fact that Harry had turned out to be like this was a possibility that hadn't occurred to any of them, but. Well. Like Hermione had put it; could they _really_ claim to be surprised?

“You're a- How is this possible? You're a _griffin_ , Harry!” Regulus finally breathed, the air wooshing sharply through his throat.

She nodded her head, clicking her beak in agreement.

Spreading her wings pointedly, giving him a look, she trotted in place with growing impatience.

She hadn't gone flying like this for far too long!

Sad as it was to admit, it was a lot more noticeable than the cat Hermione had turned into – Minerva had been so proud! – and attracted a lot of attention, even when people didn't know she was an animagus, rather than a regular magical creature.

It had just been safer not to, since she'd ended up back here.

Regulus approached slowly, as if she didn't have the mind of a witch, and truly was a wild creature.

He hesitantly reached out to touch her deep black plumage, running his fingers over the silky feathers with a small, incredulous laugh.

Harry nudged him with a wing, trying to tell him to 'get on with it' and he seemed to get the message, because he swung one leg over her back and settled on her shoulders, just in front of her wing joints.

Giving a pleased chirp, Harry worked her wings a couple of times, just to get him used to the sensation.

Turning her head to peer questioningly at him, Regulus gave a nod, eyes gleaming with excitement, and she took off at a running start, leaping into the air.

Regulus clutched at her feathers, hunched forward while she climbed into the sky, legs pressing into her sides.

As soon as she levelled out, he relaxed his hold until it was no longer bordering on painful.

“This is amazing,” she heard him say, ears swivelling back to catch the sound, even over the roar of the wind.

Harry gave a joyful shriek in response, sounding much like the bird of prey half her current body was in the likeness of. The rest looked like a large cat, equally as black.

She beat her wings to speed up, figuring they could fly for a while before they had to return to the ground.

This area was mostly empty of humans; it was why she'd picked it to set up her tent. She'd still have to move it soon, because staying this long in one spot made her uncomfortable.

Some would call it paranoia.

Harry called it common sense.

Tom and his Death Eaters must be actively looking for her by now, not to mention the Ministry.

Why did she have to make so many enemies? Oh, right. She didn't belong here and didn't have any friends.

Harry dipped into a short, playful dive, making Regulus yank on her feathers in his hurry to grasp hold of her.

It stung, but not too badly, and it had definitely been worth it.

Regulus slapped a hand on her shoulder, muttering something under his breath, too low for Harry to pick up, even with her sensitive ears.

Giving a mental snicker, Harry returned to the ground and landed gently.

Regulus slid off of her as soon as he could, looking decidedly unsteady on his feet.

“That was-” he laughed.

“An experience?” Harry asked as soon as she'd turned back into her human self.

“Yeah, _that_ ,” Regulus agreed breathlessly, still looking like a kid at Christmas.

Harry grinned at him. Flying by her own power was _fantastic_. Beyond words.

“So what are we doing now?” the boy asked.

“I was thinking we'd swing by Diagon Alley for some socialization and shopping.” She smiled, holding out her hand for him.

Regulus grinned, looking his age for once, grasping her hand without hesitation. “We already got me my school things last week,” he pointed out.

“Well, we can't always do things just because they're reasonable.” Harry shrugged. “Hey, when's your birthday?”

“5th of June,” Regulus said, peering curiously at her.

Harry tilted her head. She'd missed it, huh. Oh, well. She'd just have to find something to get him as a belated birthday present.

“Ready?” she asked, and when Regulus nodded, she turned on her heel and Disapparated away.

.

Diagon Alley was more crowded than usual this close to the start of September and the beginning of a new school term.

Despite that, she didn't see many children under fourth year about.

Harry supposed even the excited eleven year olds were kept at home, where it was marginally more safe, while their parents took care of the shopping.

Though they'd have to be present for the wand purchase, they'd no doubt be sent home directly afterwards.

Seeing as this trip was mostly for Regulus' sake, Harry trailed after the boy, letting him set the pace and destination, even as she considered what to get him for a present.

Tilting her head, scanning the crowds and shops around them, she wondered if there really was anything here he wanted that he couldn't just get for himself.

And what had she learned of him so far?

It took a while, but Harry figured out what she would get him. Smiling slightly to herself, she put the issue aside and focused on enjoying their day out.

-x-x-x-

The start of term was getting ever closer, and she knew from conversations with Minerva from her own time, that teachers arrived at the school a week before the students got there.

That was just in a few days.

If she didn't take the opportunity _now_ , she'd have to try and do this while the students were there. Which would be risky. Something she wasn't willing to chance.

Wouldn't it be better to attempt this now? But then the question was how to get in.

Frowning at the far wall of the sitting room, Harry pondered her problem. This was a vital part of her plan; if this didn't work, she'd have to find a different way...

Harry would rather avoid that, and her frown grew into a scowl.

“You look to be in a poor mood today,” Regulus commented when he walked into the room, a wary undertone to his voice that always managed to make Harry want to return to Grimmauld Place to give Orion and Walburga a _piece of her mind_.

“Yeah,” she agreed with a sigh. “I'm gonna be away for most of the day, and I'm not sure when I'll return.”

Regulus stilled on his way to the kitchen. “Will it be dangerous?” he asked quietly, sending her a worried look, gaze flicking down to her stomach briefly.

“Possibly,” Harry said calmly. “If I manage the first part,” she mused.

Regulus walked over and sat down in the chair opposite her own, staring at her and looking a bit pale.

“What do I do if you don't come back?”

Harry considered it a second. “Kreacher can take care of you, and if nothing else, you can contact Sirius before term starts,” she said.

Regulus flinched, eyes widening further. “Will you listen to me if I ask you not to go?”

Harry smiled sadly, shaking her head. “This is something that has to be done, I'm afraid.”

“Why!?” Regulus exclaimed, suddenly furious. “You've already gotten hurt, probably more than once! Why are you fighting the Death Eaters? Their cause isn't such a bad thing, Harry. Why not just listen to them and try to see things from their perspective?” he all but pleaded. “Give them a _chance!_ ”

Harry eyed him for a long second, watching him pant with quickly cooling anger.

“You've been raised to believe certain things all your life, but you haven't yet seen the reality of the Dark Lord and his followers for yourself,” she told him gently. “Everyone have to make choices for themselves, and then live with the consequences. This is my choice, and I'll die for it if that is what it takes to kill him.”

Regulus' eyes widened until it looked like they'd fall out of his skull. “You want to kill him?” he whispered, voice hushed.

“Men like him don't stop for anything less.” Harry shrugged. “And he must be stopped, before he brings the entire island to its knees, Muggle and Magical alike.” She eyed him seriously.

“ _Fine_ , throw you life away then, and see if I care!” he spat, an ugly sneer on his face as he got up and stormed back to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Harry sighed, pulling a hand through her hair.

It was to be expected, she supposed. He'd endured a lot of changes these last few months, and the thought of his new-found freedom being taken from him, one way or another, couldn't be easy to stomach.

And Harry had sprung it on him rather abruptly, too, even though she hadn't ever made the seriousness of the situation a secret.

Being told something and being faced with the possibility directly were markedly different things.

With another sigh, Harry got to her feet and walked into her room, collecting Regulus' gift and the letter she'd prepared. She had originally planned to give him his gift before dropping him off at the Hogwarts Express, but... well, plans changed.

Smiling slightly to herself, Harry carefully placed the heavy package on the kitchen table, putting the folded letter on top, put on her cloak, and then departed.

It was early yet, but she would need as much time as she could.

,

Hogwarts rose up before her like an impenetrable mountain.

Just as majestic and awe-inspiring.

Harry sighed, pulled a hand through her hair and transformed into her griffin form. If her schooling had taught her one thing about the castle, it was that it had certain weaknesses, and animagi were definitely one of them.

Ruffling her feathers and shifting her wings in an unsettled manner, Harry huffed to herself and took to the air.

Flying around the wards towards the Forbidden Forest, she looked for a place where the protective magics had enough give in them to let her through without a fuss.

A pair of Thestrals watched her from the air some distance away, their milky eyes heavy on her hide, but they made no attempt to get closer; even other creatures knew not to pick a fight with a griffin unless you were fully prepared for the consequences.

If she'd had the facial muscles for it right then, Harry would have given a grim smile.

Banking hard to her left, she slid through the wards without trouble, and winged her way towards the castle.

It felt a bit like coming home.

Landing on top of the astronomy tower, Harry decided to try her luck here.

The door had been locked, but Harry couldn't truly claim to be surprised when the door opened as soon as she asked nicely.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured to the castle around her as she made her way down the stairs, features safely hidden by her cloak.

The portraits gossiped, and she was counting on Dumbledore and the professors finding out about her visit, but that didn't mean she had to make things easy for them.

She could walk through this castle in her sleep and not lose her way for long. It was familiar, and despite everything that had happened here for her, felt safe.

The magic of this place was like a warm embrace, and Harry took a moment just to enjoy it, before she opened her eyes again with a sigh.

Turning into the corridor that would take her to the first of her goals, she eyed the statue guarding the entrance.

“The school is closed,” the gargoyle told her in a dusty voice, like smooth stones sliding against each other.

“I'm aware,” she returned. “I was hoping you'd grant me admittance anyway; I need to speak with the Sorting Hat.”

The statue eyed her solemnly a long moment.

Harry was starting to think he'd refuse. “Concerning the future safety of the students and teachers of this school, I need to speak with the Sorting Hat,” she repeated softly, hands curling into fists under the cloak.

“No hostile intentions have been detected upon your passing through the wards,” the stone gargoyle intoned gravely, and stepped aside to let her pass.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured, gratefully inclining her head as she walked by.

Riding up to the Headmaster's office on the revolving stairs, she tried to collect her thoughts. The portraits of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses might be an issue, but... the castle had been pretty helpful so far.

The door clicked open for her and she slowly walked into the familiar room, feeling like she had stepped back through time.

Which was highly ironic, she realised.

The inhabitants of the portraits looked to be mostly either asleep or absent, visiting any other portraits they had while the office was empty.

Fawkes was sitting on his perch to the side, and he was staring intently at her.

Harry didn't acknowledge the bird quite yet, because she had to take care of something else first.

Striding up to the shelf the worn old Hat was sitting on, Harry reached up and carefully grasped the ancient brim.

' _Oh dear,'_ a thin voice whispered in her ear a second after she'd put it on her head, on top of the hood.

'Long time no see,' she jokingly thought at the hat, which chuckled slightly in response, sounding vaguely astonished.

' _Indeed,_ ' it mused, the single word heavy with unsaid things. ' _Now this is something you don't come across every day_.'

'You know why I'm here,' Harry thought, and it wasn't a question.

_'Yes. If you were worthy at twelve, and I can see that your character hasn't changed much over the years..._ ' the hat whispered, voice tapering off. ' _You are changing much already, with consequences you might not yet see. Are you sure this is the right thing to do? There is a young man relying on you now._ '

'I cannot leave things as they are,' Harry thought resolutely. 'Even if I accomplish my ultimate goal, someone else could potentially take advantage of the situation in the future.'

' _Hmm,_ ' was all the answer she got on the issue, and it felt like the Hat was judging her, weighing the worth of her soul. ' _Regardless, you will need the sword._ '

Which was followed by a heavy weight hitting the top of her head.

Harry ripped the Hat from her head with a wince, scowling at the mangy leather from beneath her hood. “You could have done that more gently,” she muttered, blinking tears from her eyes.

She was going to get a bump the size of a fist on the top of her head.

Rather than wait for any kind of response, she grabbed the handle and withdrew Gryffindor's sword from within the Sorting Hat.

The weight of it was both familiar and strange, after so long. She hadn't ever really expected to handle a sword again, and she knew she was far from an expert.

Harry gently put the Sorting Hat back on his shelf, inclined her head at him in a grateful bow, and then turned to Fawkes.

“Hello, old friend,” she murmured softly, slowly approaching the stately phoenix.

Whose dark eyes had yet to leave her for even a second.

“The situation is... _complicated_ , at best, and I wouldn't know how to explain even if I had a week,” she whispered, hesitantly raising a hand to the birds head, but not touching. “I'm doing my best to help, though,” she swore. “The thing is, Fawkes. I need your help. I got it once before, facing an enemy far older, bigger and more dangerous than myself and I-” she cleared her throat, “I can't do it alone. Please.”

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about Regulus' face when she'd spoken to him this morning.

The hurt, confusion and desperation in his eyes.

Warm, soft feathers brushed against her fingers, and when she opened her eyes, Fawkes had tilted his head so that it was resting against her hand, peering at her and giving a gentle trill.

It felt like an embrace.

Taking a deep breath and wiping at her face with the hand holding the sword, she mustered a smile.

“You don't know what it means to me to be able to count you as a friend again,” she whispered, slowly bringing her forehead down to rest against Fawkes'.

Fawkes chirped sadly, bumping heads with her.

“Okay,” Harry breathed, inhaling sharply and straightening. “Let's get to work.”

Fawkes jumped over to her shoulder, settling in for a walk.

Harry reached up to scratch at his chest, all the while leaving Dumbledore's office behind.

She didn't stop until she stood in the girls' bathroom on the second floor, facing the sink that led to the Chambers of Secrets.

“Well, here goes nothing, and let's hope I'm still alive tomorrow,” Harry said with forced cheer, and then hissed at the doorway to “ _Open_.”

-x-x-x-

Regulus stayed in this room until he was sure Harry had left.

He'd already known she wouldn't change her mind; if a knife to the gut hadn't been able to do that, then a temper tantrum from him wouldn't stand a chance.

For all that he didn't know much about her, or had even known her all that long, Regulus didn't... he didn't want to go somewhere else.

With a sigh, at himself, Regulus walked out of his room to get himself something to eat.

He'd already grabbed an apple and poured himself a glass of orange juice – his new favourite – and turned around to leave before he noticed the wrapped gift on the table.

Staring at it a long moment, Regulus finally put down his glass and picked up the folded letter resting on top, opening it to read.

_Dear Regulus,_

_You told me your birthday had passed already this year, but I wanted to get you something anyway. While you're starting your OWL year this year, and I know you will be busy, I thought you might have time for_ some _leisure reading._

_These are something of a personal favourite, and I can only hope you'll enjoy them as much as I do._

_Love, Harry_

_P.S. I hope you have a nice term! Good luck!_

He read it through three times and finally just slumped down on one of the chairs.

It was clear Harry had intended to give him this gift, these books, in time for his departure to Hogwarts, but had changed her mind with regards to whatever it was she was doing right this minute.

Part of him didn't want to open the package, just ignore it like nothing had happened and continue like usual. Save it for when Harry had _intended_ to give it to him.

The rest of him reached for it and began to slowly, carefully peel the colourful paper away from the books inside.

He took his time, not feeling particularly hurried.

When he eventually pulled away the paper, it was to reveal four books, the top-most one reading,

“The Hobbit?” Regulus muttered confusedly. “What in Merlin's name is a _Hobbit_?”

Picking the book up, he noted that the next one said 'The Lord of the Rings' and it seemed to be some sort of series?

It wasn't anything familiar, or even looked like something he might have seen before, somewhere.

Frowning at the book in his hands, Regulus figured there was nothing more for it that to read a bit and see what it was about.

Taking a bite out of his apple, he cracked the pristine spine and turned the pages until he got to the first page of the first chapter.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit,” Regulus read out quietly to himself, bemused, and then continued in silence.

-x-x-x-

Facing the Basilisk at twenty-eight wasn't much easier than when she'd been twelve, it turned out.

Fawkes had, _again,_ been kind enough to make sure she wouldn't end up a stone statue in the Chamber for the rest of time, but she might just become a smear on the floor, instead.

Swearing under hear breath, Harry skidded away from another lunge from the blinded snake, the sound of its head crashing into the wall in the spot she'd been a second before deafening.

If only she didn't need a Basilisk-venom soaked sword, this wouldn't be such a big deal!

Throwing herself into a roll, she got to her feet and lunged for the snake's head while the beast was still somewhat disoriented after its latest run-in with the castle foundations.

The blade skidded off thick scales, sending a spray of sparks to the floor.

Growling with frustration, Harry threw herself in a mad dash to get away from the creature's retaliatory attack.

Would she _really_ have to stick her arm into its mouth again!?

She remembered the pain of its venom from last time well enough, she _very much_ didn't want to experience it again!

But, hey, at least there wasn't a Horcrux here this time, right!? She thought somewhat hysterically as she made another sharp turn to just about avoid being crushed to death.

“Here's to hoping you feel like shedding tears on me once more, Fawkes,” she muttered breathlessly at no one in particular, timing her next move with as much care and attention as she was currently capable of.

When the enormous head reared back to strike, Harry whirled around and raised the sword in front of her chest.

When the Basilisk struck, no doubt intending to swallow her whole, Harry thrust up and spat a vicious swear when she felt something large and sharp bury itself in her shoulder.

The giant snake gave a shrieking hiss that felt like it would make her eardrums burst, but at least that seemed to be it.

With the Sword of Gryffindor buried firmly to the hilt in the roof of its mouth, Harry was pulled with it when it toppled to the floor with one last crash, the motion jerking on her absolutely wounded shoulder.

Harry cried out in pain, prying her fingers from the sword handle to push herself away from the tooth stuck in her flesh.

The moment she was free, blood began to ooze up from the wound and she could already feel the icy agony of the venom in her veins.

Oh joy.

Breath coming out in short, harsh gasps, Harry barely registered it when Fawkes landed on her chest.

“Oh, hey,” she panted, blinking in rapid succession a few times, trying to focus on the phoenix. “Thanks for all the help, Fawkes. Couldn't have done this without you,” she said, raising one hand to try and pet him gratefully.

Her hand barely moved.

With a small huff, she peered at Fawkes. “Suppose you wouldn't mind keeping an eye on Regulus for me, would you?” she mumbled, feeling her body succumb more and more to the venom.

Fuck.

Ah, well. She'd tried, at least.

Closing her eyes in an attempt not to let the pain consume her last minutes entirely, she didn't even notice when Fawkes brought his head down to her shoulder, crooning soothingly, and it felt like salvation.

Instead of moving towards what had felt like inevitable death, the pain was slowly receding.

“You're my hero, Fawkes,” Harry mumbled, exhaustion dragging at her mind.

The phoenix trilled with kind amusement, shifting his stance on her chest a little, until it felt like he had sat down comfortably.

“Oh, tell me. Do I make a nice perch?” she asked, cracking one bleary eye open to squint at him.

She was sure Fawkes was laughing at her, but the trill he gave was cheerful and encouraging.

“I know, I know. I really should get up and go back to Regulus,” Harry sighed, not making any attempt to move just yet. Her body felt like it was made of jelly. “Do you think he's still angry with me?”

Fawkes made a questioning noise.

“He didn't want me to risk my life again,” Harry muttered. “But it's really the only thing I know how to do to protect people,” she breathed, staring at Fawkes, who met her gaze. “And I'm good at it,” she added dryly.

She hadn't died permanently yet, this last escapade included.

A couple of minutes passed in companionable silence, even though the floor she was lying on was cold, hard and damp.

“Okay, I'm ready to try and sit up now,” she sighed, and Fawkes obligingly hopped to the floor beside her.

Pain stabbed down her right arm when she moved it, but it wasn't too bad.

Carefully rotating it a few times, she gauged the mobility to be decent, considering the fact she'd had one... no, _two_ fangs in it just a moment earlier.

Grimacing at the thought, Harry climbed to her feet and staggered over to the Basilisk.

Fawkes gave her a stern look, as if to say 'don't go stabbing yourself again', to which she snorted, nodded and bent down to gingerly reach in for the sword.

“Thinks it's saturated enough in the venom to be able to destroy Horcruxes?” she asked the phoenix, who blinked.

He stared at her, and Harry was sure he understood every word.

“Well, at least it's dead now, so even if it's not, I can just come back for a tooth.”

She paused to consider the enormous body coiled on the floor.

Unlike when she'd been twelve, she now knew that the cadaver in front of her was damn near priceless, and should probably be harvested.

Something that had never happened back in her own time.

Ron had told her that the body had been surprisingly intact when he and Hermione had gone down there to get some of the teeth when they'd been seventeen, though, so it wasn't like there was any kind of hurry.

With a stilted shrug, Harry walked towards the door, Fawkes taking to the air and flying in swooping circles around her until she reached the opening, where he came in to settle on her uninjured shoulder.

Stiffly bending down to pick up the cloak she'd been smart enough to take off and leave outside, Harry trudged on towards the pipe up to the rest of the school.

Fawkes took flight again, circling her once and then waving his tail-feathers in front of her.

“One moment,” Harry muttered, fumbling with the cloak before she managed to put it on, pulling the hood up. “Okay,” she said, taking a gentle but firm hold on warm feathers.

A sense of lightness filled her and sword in hand, Harry was flown up to the surface.

.

She almost fell on her face when she arrived in the forest clearing, having Disapparated from outside the Hogwarts wards.

Fawkes had been considerate enough to fly with her all the way to the edge of the grounds, seemingly delighted at her animagus form.

Stabbing the tip of the sword into the soil and using it like a cane, Harry just about managed to regain her balance.

Panting harshly a few times to catch her breath, she slowly managed to walk the short distance to the tent.

She wanted her bed, possibly a light meal.

Covered in blood, her own and from the Basilisk, slime and gunk and possibly venom, Harry knew she probably ought to take a shower first, but she honestly couldn't be bothered.

Kreacher wouldn't mind cleaning her bed tomorrow; he was overjoyed every time she asked for his help with the household chores.

She could feel guilty about taking advantage of him afterwards.

Stumbling through the tent flap, Harry blinked blearily around the sitting room, letting out a relieved sigh when she didn't see Regulus.

He must still be in his room, then. Probably asleep; she was pretty sure it was rather late.

Good.

Okay, first food. _Then_ bed.

There was nothing worse than waking up feeling like shit on top of being starved and parched.

Staggering into the kitchen, she froze in place when her gaze met the startled one of the kid she was currently living with.

A familiar book fell from Regulus' fingers to thump to the floor and he was on his feet before Harry could do more than blink.

“ _Merlin_ , Harry,” he breathed, and she wondered what she must look like to deserve that expression on his face. “What- Sit down before you collapse!” he urged frantically.

Harry raised a hand to unclasp her cloak, only to realise she'd already done so.

Oh. That was probably why Regulus was looking at her like that.

She didn't fight him when Regulus gingerly grasped her arm and guided her to the closest chair.

“Okay. Where are you hurt?” he asked anxiously, wiping his hand on his robes, leaving a dark smear of filth and blood on the fabric.

“I'm not,” Harry sighed. Her shoulder still hurt like a bitch, but Fawkes had healed it with his tears. Based on prior experience, it would continue to hurt for a while. “'S already healed.”

“Harry, there's a _lot_ of blood on your clothes,” he said, sounding like he was freaking out but trying not to show it. “Among other things,” he added under his breath, a curl of disgust in his voice.

Harry laughed. “Yeah,” she agreed simply, and then placed the impeccably clean, shiny sword of Gryffindor on the kitchen table.

Regulus' eyes boggled. “What are you doing with a _swor-_ ” he began to demand, before the words died in his throat, no doubt having spotted the letters etched into the blade. The name of the original owner. “Harry, where did you find that?” he asked in a strained, would-be-calm voice.

“Oh, you know,” she mumbled sleepily. “Places.”

“Places,” Regulus repeated faintly.

Harry gave a low, affirmative hum, feeling pretty content where she sat. If only she had some water and food right now, she'd be set.

Time felt fuzzy and a bit like it was doing what it wanted, but that was typical for severe exhaustion, so she wasn't overly surprised when she blinked and a plate of Kreacher's soup, heated and with a spoon in it, stood in front of her. Having seemingly appeared out of nowhere, along with a glass of water.

The fact that Regulus was hovering anxiously next to her didn't make it difficult to realise he'd been the one who prepared it for her.

“Thanks,” she managed to say and reached a trembling hand for the water.

She could barely see her own skin it was so dirty, and the clean kitchen only pronounced the difference further.

Harry downed the water, ignoring the drops she spilled on herself in the process, and then concentrated on eating the soup.

Before she knew it, the spoon was scraping the bottom, and she silently wondered what had happened to the soup...

“Come on, Harry,” Regulus said, drawing her attention.

She blinked blearily at him when he grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet.

“Let's get you to bed,” he muttered to himself, clearly worried and stressed about the situation.

She wanted to apologize, but couldn't quite work up the energy.

Huh, she hadn't crashed this badly in... quite a while. Not since that time with Pansy Parkinson a few years back. Which had been an _interesting_ case.

Ron had been yelling at her, while Neville had been frantically trying to stop the bleeding-

The world tilted and she hit something soft and springy with a huff.

“Shoes,” Regulus' voice muttered and something tugged on her feet.

Before she knew it, she was asleep.

-x-x-x-


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family Business happens

Regulus didn't dare close his eyes.

Every few minutes, he just _had_ to lean forward and check that Harry was still breathing.

_What had she been doing?_

She looked like- like she'd crawled through filth and then had a bucket of blood emptied over her. There were tears in her clothes and the longer he stared at her, the more details he noticed.

There were scrapes on her hands, and he didn't doubt that there were plenty of bruises underneath the filth caking her skin.

And she _smelled_.

Like damp and slow decomposition, stone dust, like blood and something sharp and rank.

It was unpleasant, and Regulus dearly wanted to make her take a shower, but sleep had obviously been more important.

Harry had come back last night, looking like she was in the process of bleeding to death, and it was nearing midday right now.

A muffled groan from the bed roused Regulus from the daze-like state he'd fallen into, and he shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

“Harry?” he asked, clearing his throat when he heard how hoarse it was. “How are you feeling?”

Another groan was his only answer.

Feeling reluctantly amused, Regulus got the glass of water he had prepared last night, getting to his feet to lean over the bed.

“I'll turn you around now, alright? I've got water.”

Harry grunted her understanding.

With a disgusted grimace, he grasped her arm and slowly turned her around.

Up close, she smelled even worse; the dry blood was starting to stink in earnest.

“Here,” he said, trying not to breathe.

Harry squinted at him, then the glass, which she took with clumsy fingers and downed as quickly as she could.

“You're taking a shower now,” Regulus decided firmly, not willing to budge on this point.

Harry scoffed, but obligingly enough worked herself to her feet and started to trudge towards the bathroom on unsteady feet.

Hesitating slightly, Regulus eventually followed.

He didn't trust her not to fall over and crack her head open on something right now; she was that tired.

Harry, if she was aware of his presence, didn't seem to care. Which wouldn't surprise him, because she'd been wandering around the tent in nothing more than her underwear on more than one occasion. Much to Regulus' mortification.

The woman peeled off her crusty shirt and dropped it to the floor, which was followed by her trousers.

As always, Regulus couldn't help but stare a moment, gaze trailing over the frightening plethora of scars. Of all shapes and sizes.

When she began to pull off her bra, Regulus abruptly turned around and sat down with his back to the wall beside the open door, staring fixedly out into the sitting room.

If Harry fell, he'd hear and be close enough to help.

...he tried not to think about the fact that she would be _naked,_ in that scenario.

Soon enough, the shower turned on and Regulus let out a small, relieved breath, letting his head fall back to rest against the wall, leaving him staring up at the canvas ceiling.

When the shower turned off, he listened to her grab a clean towel from the cupboard, brush her teeth and go through her normal morning routine.

He didn't get up until he heard her give a satisfied sigh, the sound of her toothbrush returning to the cup on the sink.

With one towel wrapped around her hair, and another around her body, Harry came striding out the door, no doubt in search of clean clothes.

She looked much better now that she was clean and clearly more awake, despite the numerous bruises blooming across her skin.

Regulus couldn't help but stare at the new scars on her right shoulder, though.

Two large, round patches of fresh scar-tissue that he couldn't even begin to imagine what had caused. He couldn't help but compare them to the one on her right arm, which looked almost exactly the same, if only much older.

What had made those? He couldn't help but wonder. And what sort of wound that could be healed immediately -or so he assumed- also left scars like that? Magic didn't usually work that way.

As always, Harry was more mystery than anything else, and Regulus should just embrace that fact already.

With a tired sigh, Regulus got to his feet and made his way to the kitchen to start on breakfast, barely even thinking about the fact that three months ago, he wouldn't have known how to even start going about something like this.

Walking into the room, he spotted his book on the floor and he quickly picked it up, smoothing out the pages that had been folded when he'd dropped it last night.

Nothing that couldn't be fixed with a quick spell later, he mused as he put it -and the other books- to the side.

Food.

Soon enough, Harry came in and took over breakfast preparations, still looking sleepy and rather out of it, but far more aware and awake than she had been last night.

The familiar routine re-established itself quickly after that.

With the exception of the shining sword on the table that Regulus hadn't dared touch even to move, it could have been any other morning.

-x-x-x-

Albus was so wrapped up in preparing for the new school year it took him several days before he realised that something was the slightest bit off.

There were schedules to set, all the administrative duties for the castle and grounds, in addition to all of Albus' additional duties, both in the Wizengamot and the ICW, this time of year always made him feel he was running circles around himself.

And that wasn't even mentioning the strain the current civil war was causing on everyone.

He and Minerva had gone over the list of students that had been struck by the Death Eaters' violence just last night, as well as talking quietly about the few who wouldn't be returning at all.

It was all utterly heartbreaking and infuriating, and Albus had cared more about _that_ than the fact that the Sorting Hat had been sitting a few inches more to the left than when he'd last seen it.

Or the fact that the statue guarding his office had been giving him long looks lately, as if waiting for him to ask it something.

As it was, it wasn't until Dilys Derwent cleared her throat during a lull in the bustle, that the full implications dawned on him.

“Yes, Dilys?” Albus asked on a small sigh, desperately hoping she wasn't going to give him yet more grave news from her St. Mungo's portrait.

“Now that most of your work has been cleared, I merely wanted to inform you of the visitor this office witnessed a few days before the professors returned to the castle,” Derwent said with a rather sly smile.

Albus blinked when the majority of the other portraits all gave surprised reactions to that small piece of news.

He frowned. “A visitor?” he repeated mildly, trying to remember if any of his friends, allies or colleagues had mentioned calling on him when he hadn't been here.

“Indeed.” Derwent nodded with a pleased smile. “They spoke to the Sorting Hat for a little while, retrieving something _quite_ remarkable, let me tell you, and then conversed with that bird of yours for a moment,” the portrait said, gaze flicking to Fawkes' perch. “After which the two of them left together. The phoenix didn't return to the office for several hours,” she finished importantly, looking like this was the most exciting thing to have happened to her in _decades_.

Albus leaned back in his seat and took several minutes to digest the news -much to the portraits disappointment- as the various implications flicked through his head.

All the while, the previous headmasters and headmistresses discussed loudly between themselves.

“Preposterous!” Brian Gagwilde exclaimed with an affronted glare at Derwent. “If someone had come in here, I would have noticed!”

“I believe you were off visiting one of your other portraits, I'm afraid, dear,” Derwent replied lightly.

“I've been here all summer,” Armando Dippet mused.

“And you were sleeping at the time,” Dilys Dewent didn't seem the slightest reluctant to inform. “Our visitor was quite calm and collected.”

Which meant they'd been silent and tried not to attract attention, Albus concluded. “Was it a witch or a wizard?” he finally asked, turning to look at Dilys.

“Oh, I couldn't tell you, Albus. They were wearing a rather fascinating cloak; I couldn't even tell you what their voice truly sound like, because of the voice-altering spell,” she replied, sounding a tad apologetic.

Which was enough for him to suspect he knew who it might have been, even though that didn't give so much as a hint in regards to their true identity.

“Fawkes?” he questioned next, meeting the steady gaze of his friend and companion.

The phoenix looked entirely unconcerned and unhelpful, which was vexing, but also somewhat reassuring.

A phoenix would never aid someone who was not -at the very least- a good person, and they were largely immune to magic that would coerce any other creature's cooperation.

Speaking to the gargoyle guarding his office yielded results much the same, with the addition of the words the wizard had spoken to be let in.

“A future threat to the students and professors of this school?” Albus mused. “And in what direction did this guest go after leaving my office with Fawkes?”

“Down that way,” the gargoyle answered dutifully, nodding down the corridor to the left.

“Thank you,” Albus told the statue absently as he began to walk in that direction.

Talking to the portraits along the way gave him answers that were almost identical to what he'd already been told, if with slight variations.

The stranger walked down to the second floor, a sword in one hand and Fawkes perched on one shoulder, only to disappear a while later.

And they didn't reappear for several hours, which he only knew because of one slightly dubious eye-witness report from the portrait of a drunk scholar.

Albus checked everything he could think of, and could only conclude that with the exception of the sword pulled from the Sorting Hat -that the magical artefact in question was frustratingly tight lipped about- nothing at all had been taken from the castle, nothing had been disturbed, destroyed or even damaged. The stranger had been polite and courteous to all he'd spoken to, and there was nothing more for Albus to do than push the whole issue aside, for now.

There would be very little on this earth to make him forget it, though, but that didn't mean Albus had time to pursue the mystery when there was so much else to be done.

-x-x-x-

“What are you going to do about the Black Wizengamot votes?” Regulus asked out of the blue, in the middle of lunch.

Harry blinked at him.

“Since you're the Head of the Family now, I assumed you weren't going to let father continue to dictate the political aim of the Blacks,” Regulus elaborated, somewhat frostily, in the face of Harry's silent surprise.

Which was very true; she couldn't allow Orion to continue putting the weight of the Black Family behind good old Tom and his sycophants.

That would just be shooting herself in the foot.

She frowned, thinking about it.

Harry had been busy enough she hadn't even considered that. Not that she had _planned_ to become the uncontested Lady Black.

She'd just wanted Kreacher's occasional help and company, and look what that had gotten her; a full Headship, a sulking teenager and this Wizengamot problem.

“I'll need to assign a proxy,” she finally sighed.

Back in her own time, she'd asked Andy to represent her -having been too busy to deal with that particular headache herself- and that had worked out beautifully, but it wasn't like-

She cut herself off with a mental screech, freezing on the spot.

Andy. Andromeda.

She was still here, and while she'd 'officially' been kicked out of the Family for the utter _disgrace_ of daring to marry a muggleborn -Harry felt like rolling her eyes- that was something she could actually do something about.

Being the Lady Black wasn't _only_ trouble.

And she'd reinstated Andromeda into the family once already, so it wasn't like she didn't know how to do it; which was surprisingly easy, all things considered.

Harry suspected it was due to the fact that Andy was undoubtedly a Black daughter, and being thrown out over something so _inconsequential_ had made it so much easier. It had probably helped that there had basically just been the two of them left of the Blacks, and the magic had been eager to latch on to any family member that remained.

The question in her head right now, though. How old was she?

Andromeda had been born in '53, so that would mean she was... no more than 23.

Wow.

Harry was older than Andromeda.

Was she even a mother yet?

She silently did the calculations in her head and confirmed that, _yes_ , Andy was a mother and Tonks would currently be no older than _three_.

Feeling like rubbing at her face to stave off the building headache, Harry sighed and considered the possibility.

And if Andy refused? Who else could she ask?

She didn't know anyone else here, or, she supposed it would be more correct to say that _no one else_ knew _her,_ in this time.

Harry knew plenty of people, but none of them had a clue who she was.

So if not Andromeda, who else could she approach?

“Harry?” Regulus asked, abruptly bringing her out of her thoughts and blinking back to the present, making her aware of the fact that she was still sat by the kitchen table, in the middle of lunch.

“There is someone I'd like to ask to be my proxy,” she said evenly.

She'd deal with the question of what to do if Andy actually said no when it happened, and not a moment sooner. There was no need to borrow problems from the future that might not even happen.

The thought almost made her snort.

“Who?” Regulus asked, blinking curiously at her, temporarily seeming to have forgotten that he was currently upset with her.

“Your cousin Andromeda,” Harry said casually. “Would you like to come with me to talk to her about it?”

Regulus startled. “But Andy- I mean, Andromeda was cast out of the family,” he said quietly, looking a bit caught on the spot.

“And if she wishes it, I'll bring her back into it.” Harry shrugged, not overly concerned. Andy was a hell of a strong woman and witch, and she'd respect her wishes.

Regulus looked like he dearly wanted to tell her that it wasn't that easy, but thankfully kept his peace.

“Finish your lunch and we'll go see if she's home.” Harry smiled, bringing another forkful of chicken pie to her mouth. “If you want to come along, that is,” she added once she'd swallowed, sending the boy a curious look.

What would he do?

Sirius had been very fond of Andromeda, and she'd gotten the impression that the feelings had been similar on Regulus' part, but... he had been well and truly indoctrinated in what was and wasn't acceptable for a pureblood.

It would be sad if the bias he'd been force-fed since toddler-hood kept him from his precious people. Kept him from finding happiness.

Harry kept a steady look on Regulus while he debated the issue, the conflict visible in his eyes.

“I'll... I'll come with you,” Regulus finally decided hesitantly.

Harry gave a small, proud smile and ate the rest of her lunch without comment.

Every small step was progress. You had to learn how to walk before you could run, she reminded herself, still inordinately pleased with the boy's choice.

When she was done, she flicked her wand at the dirty dishes, sending them to the sink to wash themselves. Just because she usually did things by hand didn't mean she didn't know how to do the same things with magic.

“Go get your cloak,” she said, eager to get this over with.

Regulus startled. “Now?” he asked, giving her an incredulous look. “You want to go right away?” he seemingly couldn't help but add.

“Yes. The sooner the better,” she said firmly. “The next Wizengamot session isn't very long from now; it's why you brought this all up to begin with, right?” Harry planted one hand on the table and leaned her weight on it, raising a pointed eyebrow at the teenager. “If she declines, I'm gonna have to find someone else.” She shrugged.

Hadn't there been a Black married into the Potter family?

“Why does everything have to happen right away with you?” Regulus muttered under his breath, but got up to fetch his cloak.

Harry smiled thinly and did the same, retrieving her cloak from her bedroom.

She had learned early on that avoiding things and pushing them off rarely did anything but make them worse.

Why shouldn't she try and get this settled as quickly as possible? She could be dead tomorrow for all they knew.

“Ready? Then let's go,” Harry said when Regulus joined her in the sitting room, and they left the tent together.

Regulus held out his hand to her without a word.

Harry took it and Disapparated to the Tonks house.

.

It looked much like she remembered it.

If you disregarded the healthy amount of children's toys sprinkled all over the garden, all in garish colours that were particularly eye-catching.

Harry didn't have any trouble at all imagining baby Tonks -or what that Nymphadora now?- being utterly taken with them.

She paused at the edge of the wards, taking in the feel of them. They were rather impressive, she had to admit, but she was fairly sure she could force her way through them if she had to.

That didn't mean she wanted to scare Andy and Ted half to death, thinking it was a Death Eater attack.

She'd seen enough of that to last her more than a lifetime already, thank you.

Harry could only save so many, and there would always be those who died no matter how hard she tried, no matter how quick she was to respond to the alarm wards she'd set.

Reaching out a gloved hand, Harry let her fingers hover in mid-air, 'feeling' the magic of the wards pulse subtly under her digits.

Letting her own magic surge to her raised hand, she dragged her fingers down towards the ground, causing the wards to shimmer into view for just a moment, and no doubt alerting the inhabitants of the house that there was someone 'at the door' so to speak.

If they'd react by fleeing for their lives or not would be left to be seen.

Regulus shifted impatiently from foot to foot beside her, before finally opening his mouth to send her a quiet question.

“Why aren't we just going up to the house?”

“And have them think we're here to kill them?” Harry shot back mildly. “Counterproductive to my current goals, Reggie.”

To which the boy said nothing, though his shoulders hunched down ever so slightly, as if wanting to protect himself from the harsh reality of her words.

It was different when the Death Eaters targeted someone you cared about, wasn't it, Regulus?

Her attention settled on the figure that exited the house, wand held tightly in hand and a grim expression on his face.

Ted Tonks was far younger than when she'd last seen him, and she could only be grateful for the clear, marked difference.

“What do you want?” he asked tightly the moment he was close enough he didn't have to shout.

“I wish to speak to Andromeda Tonks,” Harry requested formally. “I wish no harm to you or your family,” she added solemnly. “They shall remain unmolested by my hand for as long as I draw breath.”

Ted stared at her, clearly not having expected to hear that, though he hadn't lowered his wand even a fraction.

Harry was pleased to see it.

“Who are you? What's your name?” he demanded to know, instead of commenting, clearly suspicious.

“My name is of little consequence,” Harry dismissed negligently.

“He's the new Head of the Black Family,” Regulus said almost at the same time, having straightened his back and was staring Ted down across the wards.

Ted instantly paled and looked like he was contemplating making a run for it.

Which wasn't entirely uncalled for.

Without moving her head, Harry sent Regulus a long look from the corner of her eye, having clearly caught that pronoun he'd chosen to use in reference to her.

Regulus didn't look like he was about to correct himself anytime soon, and was in fact all but glaring down the nose at the poor man in front of them.

Ted cleared his throat. “What would the Head of the Blacks want with my wife?” he asked nervously, though he still looked fiercely proud and unapologetic over claiming Andromeda as his spouse.

As he should.

“It's a matter of Family business, and I'm merely here to give Andromeda Tonks an offer, which she will be fully within her rights to refuse or accept as she sees fit,” Harry said neutrally, intentionally emphasizing Andy's surname.

Ted was a good man, and any family would be lucky to have him; Andy had chosen herself a brilliant husband.

“And I have your word that no harm will come to anyone in my family? Directly or indirectly?” the man pressed, clearly on edge.

“Neither from my hand, nor the hand of my companion,” Harry swore, and she could feel her magic pulse in acknowledgement, accepting the oath.

Ted relaxed minutely, clearly having caught the same thing, while she could all but hear Regulus' irate thoughts aimed at her.

She smiled thinly behind the spells on her hood, and patiently waited for Ted to either invite them in or send them away.

Harry had no plans to be forceful; she knew full well why this family was so wary.

Finally, Ted took a deep breath and lowered his wand slightly.

“I'll ask Dromeda if she would like to see you,” he said, eyeing her with obvious mistrust. Waiting for her to act more according to what could generally be expected of a Black, no doubt.

Regulus stiffened at the perceived insult, but Harry merely held out a hand, for him to keep his silence, and inclined her head.

“It's much appreciated,” was all she said, keeping her voice calm and even.

Ted, looking mildly freaked out about what he perceived as the grossly out of character behaviour, slowly backed away from her, then turned around and hurried back to the house, continuing to throw them looks over his shoulder until he disappeared through the door.

The moment he was out of hearing distance, Regulus turned to her.

“He was being _rude_ ,” he hissed irritably. “He's-”

“Doing his best to look out for his family in times when there are plenty of people who would see him and his daughter dead, and his wife made an example of,” Harry interrupted sharply. “Don't judge someone when you don't know anything about their situation, Regulus,” she reprimanded quietly but firmly.

Regulus huffed, but didn't try to say anything further.

The minutes stretched on, and Harry imagined she knew what was going on in the house, though nothing of the turmoil their arrival had no doubt caused was discernible from the outside.

Regulus was sullenly impatient, arms crossed over his chest and pointedly not looking at her.

After ten minutes had passed, the front door finally opened to reveal a much younger, clearly apprehensive Andromeda.

She walked towards them with her head held high and her wand in hand, Ted stood in the door behind her, face tight and worried.

It was clear her husband hadn't wanted her to come out on her own.

“I'm Andromeda Tonks,” she introduced herself, stopping just inside the wards.

Harry inclined her head. “I'm not here to denounce your marriage, Mrs. Tonks,” she said evenly, shoving the hurt and unrest at being received so coldly from someone she loved dearly into the far recesses of her mind. “It's a sad state of affairs when the next generation is cast from the family for such small, negligible offences, all but reducing the Black Family to elders and the dregs of society,” she mused dryly, ignoring the way Regulus stiffened beside her.

Harry had never met the older Blacks, and was -as such- withholding her judgement until the moment she did.

Andromeda looked positively pole-axed, if only because Harry knew her so well and could read her expressions as well as her own.

“Who are you? I don't recognize you. What happened to unc- to Orion?” she asked, voice trembling ever so slightly.

“As I told your husband; my name is of little consequence,” Harry sighed softly. “I'm only the Head of House Black because of a set of unfortunate circumstances,” she revealed truthfully. “Orion was abandoned by the Family Magicks after both his children nearly lost their lives due to his gross negligence.”

Regulus gave a minute flinch at the frank words, and she was perhaps being a bit harsh, but Harry honestly didn't think so.

Orion and Walburga's behaviour was indefensible.

Andromeda's eyes widened, and it made her realise that she no doubt hadn't heard anything about Sirius' escape to the Potters, yet. Something that had probably been kept quiet, so as to not incur the Blacks' wrath.

“Sirius is safe with the Potters, and Regulus,” she raised a hand to indicate the cloaked teenager next to her, “is currently under my protection.”

Andromeda, for the first time, turned to stare at the boy, eyes wide and intent, and after a brief moment of hesitation, Regulus raised his hands to pull down his hood.

“Hello, cousin,” he greeted, giving Andromeda a wan smile.

“Regulus,” Andy breathed softly. “What-” she cleared her throat, “what did I tell you the first Christmas after Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor?” she asked, a desperate sort of hope in her eyes.

“You didn't say anything,” Regulus mumbled awkwardly. “Just got me out of the room as quickly as possible and hid out with me in my room until the end of dinner.”

Harry's heart hurt for these children, it really did, and she reached out to place her hand on Regulus' shoulder in silent support.

“It's really you,” Andromeda whispered, and then pulled Regulus in through the wards, enveloping him in a tight hug.

Something Regulus clearly hadn't anticipated, if the slight flailing was anything to go by.

Harry watched with a smile, content to wait and let them have their reunion in relative peace.

“What did Orion and Walburga _do_?” the woman finally asked, letting Regulus go enough to look him over, clearly concerned.

Regulus' expression tightened and he remained silent.

“Turning your wand on a child is a truly despicable thing to do,” Harry said quietly, drawing attention back to herself.

Andromeda's eyes narrowed, and she wordlessly fired off a diagnostics charm at the boy still in her grasp.

“I'm fine,” Regulus finally sighed, looking equal parts exasperated and reluctantly pleased. “I thought we were here for something more important than my health,” he added, sending Harry a significant look.

Harry frowned. “Your health isn't so insignificant it doesn't deserve some attention, Regulus,” she reminded him firmly. “But it is perhaps unwise to linger out here in the open longer than is strictly necessary,” she added evenly, not making any move to step closer to the wards.

Andromeda looked genuinely torn, and her grasp on Regulus tightened.

He was the first family member she'd seen ever since she'd run away to marry Ted, Harry realised.

“You can trust him, Andy,” Regulus said, again referring to her as male. “He doesn't mean you or your family any harm; he swore.”

“Why aren't you showing us your face?” Andromeda demanded, still clearly on the fence about what to do.

“For your protection,” Harry said, going with part of the truth. It was also for her own protection, and that of the Potter family. “I am heavily engaged in making myself as much of a nuisance to the Dark Lord as is humanly possible,” she said with a slight, satisfied smile. “If you can honestly claim not to know my identity, it makes you less of a target.”

Andromeda stared at her for a long moment, and then gave a miniscule nod. “You may come inside and state your business.”

Harry inclined her head and stepped over the wards.

Andromeda seemed to hold her breath for a second, watching her for so much as an unfriendly twitch, and then motioned for her to walk ahead of her and Regulus to the house.

Harry complied without a word of protest, marginally sure that Regulus wouldn't let the woman try and curse her from behind. Out of regard for Andromeda, if nothing else.

She nodded once to Ted at the door, and strode into the house, trying to act like she'd never been there before.

Harry took a quick glance around, and then walked into the kitchen and sat by the table, patiently waiting for the others to join her.

Folding her hands together on the table top, fully visible, Harry waited and went over what she wanted to say, not moving an inch when Ted, Andromeda and Regulus walked into the room after her, with varying levels of hesitance and wariness.

Regulus quickly took the seat next to hers, and stared expectantly at Andy until she, too, took a seat.

Ted was largely ignored by the boy.

Harry listened intently for a moment, but couldn't hear anyone else in the house, which meant that they'd taken toddler-Tonks somewhere else; altogether a wise decision.

“What sort of Family business do you have with me?” Andromeda finally asked, one hand clutching her husband's and the other curled tightly around her wand where she sat on the other side of the table, back rigidly straight and chin raised.

Unapologetic.

“I was not anticipating becoming the Black Head,” Harry began bluntly, leaping straight to the heart of the matter. “As such, my plans do not allow for me to spend time in the Ministry, attending the Wizengamot and the seats allotted to the Black Family. As I refuse to let Orion continue to ruin this family's future, and the stubborn, moronic insistence of following the Dark Lord's insane propaganda and strive towards his goals, I need a proxy of sound mind and morals.” She paused, sending the wide-eyed young couple in front of her a heavy, searching look. “I'm here to offer you that position of proxy, Andromeda Tonks,” she said calmly, the words official and grave.

The Tonks kitchen was utterly silent, and even Regulus looked like he was holding his breath.

“I- I'm a blood-traitor. I married a muggleborn,” Andromeda finally said, as if she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. “I may have been raised on nothing but pureblood bias and prejudice, but that's not what I believe in,” she said firmly, but with a faint undertone to her voice.

Harry inclined her head, a soft, proud smile on her lips. “Which is why I believe you would be perfect for the job,” she replied honestly. “The hate and prejudice in our society is what's bringing us to our knees; how many magical families have been lost since this war began? How many pureblood lines have gone extinct?” she asked, turning her head to stare at Regulus, who stubbornly set his jaw and refused to meet her eyes. “The Dark Lord cares nothing for blood, cares nothing for people he believes to be beneath himself, which means everyone is fair game so long as they dare defy or displease him.”

“You don't know that,” Regulus muttered under his breath.

“Have you met him, then, Regulus? Have you seen the Dark Lord with your own eyes? Conversed with him perhaps?” Harry asked sharply, unable to keep the words back. “In this matter, you're a child repeating words that have been told to you by others, ignorant of the reality of the matter in ways you cannot even imagine, kid.”

Regulus looked mutinous, and stubbornly glared off to the side.

“Are you suggesting those things are applicable to you?” Ted asked faintly after a long beat of silence.

“Yes,” Harry replied simply.

It was even true; she'd become enough of a thorn in Voldemort's side he'd arrived at the scene the one time. Their interaction had been brief but intense, with the man trying to aggressively recruit her.

Which had been less sophisticated than he usually operated, because he didn't know anything about her. He didn't have any information to try and manipulate her with, to try and twist her mind around.

“I realise that the position can and probably will land you and your family in more trouble than you're already in. But you should know, that should you accept, I will go to any length possible to keep all of you safe,” she promised intently, leaning forward slightly in an attempt to bring home the point. “And with your permission, I'd like to strengthen your wards regardless of your answer today before we leave.”

“Why?” Ted asked, looking like he didn't even know what to think any more.

“Because family is the most important thing in the world.” Harry shrugged. “Chosen or blood, it doesn't matter. I will go through fire without hesitation for my family.”

Regulus muttered something inaudible under his breath.

Harry reached out to flick his ear, causing the boy to jump and send her a displeased scowl, before he remembered he was upset with her and turned away again.

“If I accept the position, I hope you realise I will use the weight of the Black family name to push for views that will make the rest of the family out for my blood,” Andromeda said evenly, looking like she was trying to provoke a reaction.

Harry merely smiled. “Then they will have to go through me first, and Orion has already gotten a brief taste of what that might be like.”

“What are you talking about?” Regulus asked irritably. “You didn't fight father.”

“Orion was wise enough not to press me when we visited,” Harry said coolly. Thinking back on that still made her mood plummet.

“You confronted Orion Black?” Andromeda asked sharply.

“It wasn't anything so impressive,” Harry dismissed. “The man is many things, but an idiot is not one of them.”

“I'd like some time,” Andromeda said after a long pause, where she'd been staring unblinkingly into the shadows of Harry's hood, as if trying to see through the enchantments.

Harry tilted her head. “How much time did you have in mind?” she asked curiously.

“Two days,” Andromeda requested.

“Sounds reasonable. And what about the wards?”

“I want to observe,” Andy said, sounding like compromising on this point was unacceptable.

Harry inclined her head and got to her feet. She waited for Regulus to follow suit, then walked towards the front door.

She didn't check to see if Andy and Ted followed them, but she didn't need to; she could hear their footsteps.

Outside, it was overcast, but still bright enough you had to squint.

Harry strode up to the wards and stopped a step away from it. Raising her arms, Harry closed her eyes and 'touched' the wards.

It would be easier if she had access to any kind of ward-stone, but she was realistic enough not to bother asking.

She'd discovered, a while back, that if you had powerful enough magic, you could _infuse_ your magic into wards -unless they'd been guarded against it- to either strengthen them or bring them down.

Bringing wards down was both easier and harder. Easier, because it was always easier to break things than to build them. Harder, because all that magical energy, the older the more volatile, had to go somewhere, and it would all rush out through the point of the breach. Which would be where the witch or wizard in question was standing.

And unless that person could handle the abrupt rush of surging magic, they'd be _fried_.

In the, there'd be nothing more than a body-shaped piece of charcoal left, kind of way.

Firming her determination, Harry sent her magic into the wards.

It was a simple but powerful construct; solid. Based on _intent_ more than blood, which, with Andromeda's family, was a very wise decision.

She poured her magic into the wards, and she could feel them glow with the added power, absorbing it into itself.

Focusing on the intent-based part of the wards, pouring herself into them to make them stronger. With enough magic, wards could become near-sentient.

The problem was, Harry mused, feeling mildly light-headed and short of breath, was that the amount needed was close to _ridiculous_.

“Harry,” Regulus hissed quietly, stepping closer to her.

“Stay back, Regulus,” she replied, not so much as opening her eyes, the furrow between her eyebrows deepening.

She needed to tie up the magic she'd just added to the wards, or risk them destabilising over time, which would not just undo everything she'd just done, but also compromise the family depending on them.

Harry wove the magic into the pre-existing wards, buried her own magic into the depths of them, feeling the Black Family Magicks stir just about as she was finishing up.

Finally lowering her arms, Harry felt drained enough she staggered right into Regulus, who wrapped an arm around her middle and tried to take part of her weight.

“You overdid it!” he growled, struggling with her woozy weight.

“Just need a minute,” she muttered, taking slow, deep breaths. “The wards should hold now, and even if they don't, they'll hold long enough for me to get here and get you out,” she said, tilting her head to look at the bamboozled couple currently staring at her. “They're still wired to go by intent, so keep that in mind; even that's got weaknesses.”

Because someone could visit without any bad intentions what-so-ever, and cross the wards no problem, only to change their minds.

And then there were things like Dementors, Inferi and even imperioused people.

Which were all tricky to deal with, when it came to wards.

“Oh, and before we take our leave,” Harry said, managing to straighten somewhat, gratefully patting Regulus' chest. “The Family Magicks wanted to get involved, so they got their sticky fingers in there, too, at the end.”

“But I was- I was cast out,” Andy protested weakly, looking lost and terribly young.

It reminded her that the woman was currently no more than twenty-three.

“On no valid grounds; the Magicks didn't accept it,” Harry sighed, closing her eyes a moment. “You're a strong, powerful witch with a lot of pride in your blood. You uphold all the Family Values.”

“But I married a ' _mudblood_ ',” Andromeda objected, spitting out the cur.

Harry laughed bitterly. “The Family Magicks don't care about that; you could have married a muggle, no problem.”

Both Andromeda and Regulus stared at her with tangible shock and disbelief.

“No,” Regulus said, as if the possibility of it being true couldn't even be entertained.

“You can deny it all you want, Reggie; that doesn't change the facts,” she huffed. “Now, come on; I need a large meal and some rest, while the Tonkses here need to discuss a few things between themselves.”

Regulus snorted but didn't say anything more.

After another few second of catching her breath, Harry straightened up, firmed her hold on Regulus and Apparated away.

-x-x-x-


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God Jul, everyone! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, or, if you don't celebrate anything, then I hope you have a very nice Thursday! ^^

Regulus was conflicted.

His world had been turned on its head so many times this summer, he hardly knew which way was up any more.

With a sigh, he lowered his book and threw a glance at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall.

It was late, and Harry wasn't back yet.

Putting his book down; he'd finished the Hobbit and was currently making his way through Lord of the Rings. Strangely fascinating, even though the magic in the story was weird and unrealistic.

The books had been written by a muggle, so it was to be expected, he supposed.

Getting up with a sigh, Regulus wondered what he should eat for dinner, only to hear the tent-flap open.

Instantly turning away from the path to the cold-box, Regulus walked into the sitting room and paused at the sight that greeted him.

“Uh, Harry?” he began tentatively, watching her cuss under her breath as she struggled to remove the cloak from around her throat. “Are you... smoking?”

“Inferi!” Harry hissed furiously, causing most of the blood to drain from Regulus' face. “In a Muggle neighbourhood!”

She devolved into more growled insults and threats, all the while stripping out of her still-smoking clothes.

“Um,” was all Regulus could think to say, carefully taking a step back from Harry's singed, steaming shirt.

“The only thing that works on Inferi is fire,” Harry explained shortly. “And I managed to distract the damn things long enough for everyone to get evacuated,” she added, though she didn't look happy. “The wizarding family living on that street won't recover for quite a while; their children will grow up with horrible nightmares, but at least they'll get the chance to grow up at all,” she muttered and stomped into the kitchen, clad in nothing more than her underwear.

Regulus grimaced and slowly followed her. “Why would they be targeted?”

“Because Mr. Hudson has the nerve to be a muggleborn and work at the Ministry.” Harry scowled, taking out the big baking bowl. “And he married a muggle, so that's another 'valid' reason, I suppose.” She slammed the bag of flour onto the counter.

Regulus slowly sat back down in his chair, watching Harry take out her aggressions on the quickly assembled dough.

“What about tomorrow?” he eventually asked, once it looked like the woman had calmed somewhat.

“What about it?” Harry huffed, before she took a deep breath and turned to face him. There was both soot and flour on her face and she looked worn. “We'll go along as we've planned. This has been just another day in these times; it's unfortunately not unusual, Regulus.”

Regulus nodded, finding himself lacking for words in response to that.

Harry set the dough to rise and then started cooking a dinner large enough Kreacher would be upset again.

Surprisingly little time later, the two of them settled down to eat.

Harry still in just her underwear and looking not even the slightest bit bothered by her state of undress.

Regulus didn't know if he ought to be upset to find that he wasn't all that bothered by it either, any more.

It wasn't like she was indecent; she just didn't seem to have the energy or frame of mind to bother with clothes from time to time.

He wondered if that had anything to do with her being an animagus?

If that was the case, then he'd have some trouble keeping a straight face during Transfiguration classes this year.

When they had both filled their stomachs, Harry leaned back in her chair with a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You should go to bed, Reggie. We've got an early start tomorrow.” She smiled tiredly at him, and Regulus tried not to stare at the bags under her eyes.

She'd been gone a _lot_ in the last few days. Ever since they'd gone back to Andromeda's house to hear her answer.

He'd woken up in the middle of the night several times to find her gone.

He still had nightmares, though they'd been slightly more manageable ever since Harry had given him that notebook, which he'd taken to call his dream journal.

It sounded better than nightmare journal. Or _diary_.

“Okay,” he said, getting to his feet, watching Harry flick her fingers to send the leftovers and dirty dishes to the counter and sink respectively.

That had been another surprise. He didn't think anything Harry did from this point on would ever shock him again.

Wandless magic.

Magical creature animagus.

What else could she spring on him?

.

The next morning, Harry woke him up early enough he doubted the sun had risen yet.

The tent didn't have any windows, so he couldn't check right away, but it sure felt like it, at least.

“Come on, I'm making waffles for breakfast,” Harry said with a smile, ruffled his hair and then left for the kitchen.

Regulus groaned into his pillow, but reluctantly pushed himself up off the mattress.

He'd packed most of his things in advance, but right now, he got dressed and collected the last few things he'd left scattered around the tent.

Then, he shared a wonderful breakfast with Harry, who chatted cheerfully throughout the whole thing.

“Are you ready?” she asked some time later, having packed him several snacks, which he'd put in his book-bag. “We're leaving in a few minutes.”

“I'm almost certain I've remembered everything,” Regulus said tiredly, trying to make his thoughts run smoother.

“No worries; if you've forgotten something, I'll owl it to you,” Harry assured him easily and got to her feet to get her cloak.

Regulus stared at her for a long moment, those words just rattling around his head.

“Okay.”

“Do you have your things?” Harry asked next. She'd already shrunk his trunk, which was a reassuring weight in his robe pocket. “Then let's go.”

Regulus followed her out of the tent, taking her offered hand, even though it felt like he was... leaving a safe, secret place to go back to the real world.

Even when they'd left for their numerous trips during the summer, he'd always known that they'd be coming back. Even when Harry had moved them and the tent to another part of the country, it hadn't felt any different.

It was like he had spent the last one and a half months in a safe bubble, living with Harry as a solid, secure presence in there with him.

Harry turned on the spot and Disapparated.

They reappeared in Muggle London, in a deserted alley close to King's Cross Station.

Harry cast a quick notice-me-not on their clothes and then they walked the short distance to the station, only with the early morning commuters as company.

Regulus was used to seeing the station with more people, the few times he'd been through in the past. His parents had always preferred flooing straight to the platform, as they didn't want to 'mix with the masses' but it had happened a grand total of twice that they'd been forced to foray into the Muggle side of the station. Much to his parents' disgust and outrage.

Looking around platform 9 ¾, Regulus took in the practically deserted place.

At least the train was already in position, but that didn't change the fact that there was more than three hours until it was time for departure.

Harry, hood raised and features completely hidden, her voice altered until it was unrecognisable, turned towards him.

“I hope you'll have a good term,” she said, and it was hard to tell, but it sounded like she was smiling. “The tent will be empty without you, Regulus.”

“Yeah,” was all he could think of saying, now that they were finally standing here.

He'd never faced a situation like this before.

When he first left for Hogwarts at age eleven, he'd had Sirius there beside him, and even if he'd known he _couldn't_ end up in the same House as him, he'd known he'd be _there_. And it wasn't like he would end up missing his parents.

“Here,” Harry said into the awkward silence, pressing a small package into his hand. “I made you something. Please promise me to keep it on your person at all times, okay?”

“What is it?” Regulus couldn't help but ask, and, “You've already gotten me a birthday present.”

Harry snorted amusedly, which sounded rather strange from under the spells. “Then look at it as a going away present. My way of sending you off to school.”

Regulus swallowed past the lump in his throat and stuffed the package into one of his pockets, determined to open it later, when he was alone and wouldn't make a fool of himself.

“Harry,” he began, but had to clear his throat when his voice broke ever so slightly. “Would you mind- I mean, can I spend the Christmas holiday with you? Or would you rather I stay at Hogwarts?”

Harry stared at him; he could feel her gaze.

“Of course I'd love to spend Christmas with you,” she said, reaching out a gloved hand to cup his cheek. “I've already started thinking about what to get you for a present.”

Regulus stepped into her personal space and wrapped his arms around her middle before he could think better of it, pressing his face into her shoulder.

Harry was frozen for barely a second, before she returned the hug just as tightly.

“And I can send letters, right?” he asked into her shoulder, voice muffled almost beyond recognition.

“I'd be sad if you didn't. And you can expect plenty of letters back; I won't have anyone to talk to other than Kreacher now, you know,” Harry replied softly, one hand stroking his back gently. “He's a great elf and all, but not the best conversationalist.”

Regulus snorted and tightened his hold on the strange, mysterious and absolutely vexing woman.

“Shedding tears every now and then is good for the soul. It's cleansing,” Harry whispered in his ear, her voice entirely her own. “I know you've been conditioned out of it, but it's never too late to change the person you want to become. Don't ever be ashamed of who you are, Regulus. Don't be ashamed to _feel_.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled back, doubting she could even decipher the meaning of the words he had just uttered, so muffled were they.

Harry just laughed, a soft, warm sound that made him feel... like a little kid again, sitting in Andy's lap while she read him and Sirius children's stories in Sirius' room.

“Yes, yes. You're a big strong Slytherin, I know,” Harry sighed with mock-regret, patting his back. “You better take care of yourself, Reggie. Hogwarts might feel safe, but that doesn't mean the war isn't seeping into the castle,” she whispered.

“You're the one who ought to take care,” Regulus muttered.

Realising that he couldn't cling to the woman like a child until the train was due to leave, Regulus cleared his throat and stepped back, face burning with embarrassment.

Staring at the Hogwarts Express, he tried to force the excess blood out of his cheeks.

“What now?”

“Now, you board that train and pick the best compartment,” Harry said, voice back to being magically altered. “I'll stick around, lurking in the shadows, just in case.”

Regulus nodded with a frown. Did she think the Death Eaters would attack the platform?

“Remember everything I've taught you,” she added, almost like an after-thought. “I'll be disappointed if you get anything below an Exceeds Expectations on your Defence OWL,” she joked.

“You'll see; I'll knock you off that high hippogriff and get an O,” Regulus shot back, chin raised in mostly mock-superiority.

“That's the spirit,” Harry encouraged and nudged him towards the train. “Go on.”

Unable to think of any good arguments to drag things out further, Regulus did as suggested. He got on the train and picked a compartment for himself.

It felt strange not to encounter anyone else in the corridors.

Taking a seat next to the window, on the platform side, Regulus looked out to see Harry standing where he'd left her, staring at him.

She raised a gloved hand to give him a quick wave, and then walked off towards the far wall, where she soon enough blended in with the background, all but disappearing completely from sight.

Resisting the urge to snort, Regulus relaxed back in his seat and dug the small parcel she'd given him out of his pocket, having to look for it a while, as he couldn't recall _which_ pocket he'd shoved the thing into.

The package was small, not quite the size of his palm, and rather heavy.

He couldn't think of anything it might be, so instead of pondering the mystery for longer than necessary, he simply opened it.

Regulus accidentally tore the paper, only for something golden to spill out onto his lap.

There was a long chain, he observed, picking it up and lifting it towards his face.

At the end of the simple but stylish chain, there dangled some sort of medallion.

Grasping the thing, Regulus brought it closer to his eyes to peer at it, looking it over with idle curiosity.

He couldn't say he'd expected Harry to be the kind of person to give away jewellery to people, but this was most definitely a necklace.

A simple, almost crude one.

The medallion was just a simple golden disc, about the size of a galleon, unadorned by any stones or other decoration. His mother would have been appalled at such a simple piece.

Turning the medallion over, he saw his own initials carefully etched into the metal in what was, without a doubt, Harry's handwriting.

Squinting at the polished gold, Regulus saw that the back hadn't been left as blank as the front, and that, in addition to his initials, there seemed to be a ring of tiny runes etched around the whole thing, almost too small to read.

Before he could begin to attempt to read them, the whole thing heated up between his fingers, and he dropped it out of sheer shock.

Not that it had gotten warm enough to burn his fingers, but compared to the pleasantly cool temperature of the metal beforehand, it had been quite startling.

Regulus warily picked the medallion up again, feeling reasonably sure Harry wouldn't give him something that was truly harmful, at least not without telling him first. Not on purpose.

At first, he couldn't see any difference, and the metal had once again cooled down and seemed utterly normal and harmless. Like he had just imagined it.

Then he turned it back over and stared at the words now written on the disc.

_Do you need glasses?_ Was written in Harry's semi-neat chicken-scratch on the previously spotless medallion. As he watched, another sentence was added underneath, accompanied by another surge of warmth. _Read the note._

Note?

Regulus hadn't seen a no-

With an exasperated sigh, he picked up the forgotten wrapping paper and opened it up properly, revealing a neatly folded note, that had no doubt been tucked in with the necklace. And that he had missed entirely when the chain and medallion had slipped free of the paper wrapping.

_Corresponding by letter isn't always safe, and will always take some time. I figured that this might be useful to stay in touch while you're away, and will give you a direct line of communications with me, should you find yourself in trouble, or just in need of my assistance._

_Even if it's for something you think is insignificant, you can always share your problems and thoughts with me, Regulus._

_I'll find a way to sneak into Hogwarts, even if it's just to help you study for your OWLs! So don't hesitate to use this medallion, okay? I've got its' twin._

And it went on to explain how to use it.

Regulus marvelled at the amount of work that must have gone into making this thing. Just etching the runes on the backside alone!

They were so small, it was a miracle she hadn't mixed them up or written them close enough they touched, which would have ruined the whole thing.

Fiddling with the medallion a moment, Regulus muttered the password under his breath, 'green feathers', all the while rolling his eyes at what Harry no doubt considered wit.

'Green' for her eyes, no doubt, and 'feathers' for her animagus form.

After an irritatingly long time, he managed to compose an appropriate response to Harry's earlier message.

_You're an idiot,_ he wrote, feeling marginally satisfied. He'd really wanted to write something along the line of 'you're an insufferable moron' but settled for something shorter as his first attempt.

The words formed on the back, within the circle of runes and temporarily replacing his initials, before the letters sank into the metal and disappeared. Presumably transferring to Harry's corresponding one.

_Yes, yes. Now put it on, genius._

Regulus snorted, but obligingly looped the chain over his head, making sure to send the spot of wall he'd last seen Harry standing in front of a long, unimpressed look.

_Guess what my password for writing to you is,_ she wrote next, the message replacing the previous one.

Regulus narrowed his eyes slightly and painstakingly wrote out his reply.

_I'll be very irate if it is anything to do with snakes,_ he wrote.

He could all but feel Harry laughing at him, even though she was on the other side of the platform, the walls of the train separating them.

_Incorrect_ , glared back at him, and nothing else.

_You're making me guess?_

_Correct_ , she wrote, and he felt like her self-satisfied glee was all but dripping off of the single word.

Feeling a small, competitive smirk pull on his lips, Regulus focused on spelling out his reply, slowly getting faster at writing, even while using the tiny runes.

Every time he got a message, the medallion would warm up, enough to get his attention, but nowhere near hot enough to hurt.

And before Regulus knew it, the platform was full of people and he'd spent almost three hours just bickering with Harry through a charmed piece of jewellery.

_Remember to have fun_ , Harry's last message before the train left read, making it feel like the metal warmed him all the way to his soul.

-x-x-x-

In between answering Regulus' tentative messages, Harry kept a close eye on the platform, eyeing every person to arrive with curious interest.

Sprinkled amongst the masses were plenty of Aurors, all in civilian robes and no doubt officially off duty, some clearly there to accompany their families.

The way they kept scanning their surroundings and keeping most of their attention on the crowd, however, insinuated that they were afraid of some sort of attack.

The last week had seen a lot of activity from Voldemort and his Death Eaters, as if they'd been eager to cram in as much violence into the days before the new school term as possible.

Harry didn't think Voldemort would strike here today, though. Not when everyone was expecting it.

Her instincts were rather calm, which was another reason she felt reasonably relaxed.

“Any particular reason you're skulking around here like a common pickpocket?” a familiar voice growled quietly next to her, and Harry felt her lips stretch into a slight, wryly amused smile.

“Same reason as you are, I presume,” she returned quietly, sending the man standing casually next to her a long glance. “Gonna try and arrest me?” she couldn't help but ask, genuinely curious.

“In a crowd like this?” Moody scoffed, sending her a wry look.

Harry just smiled, humming a little.

They stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the last students hurry onto the train, the last families giving their children tight hugs and tearful farewells, and shouting reminders to write often.

The last whistle blew, and the Hogwarts Express groaned into motion.

“Heard about the Hudsons,” Moody grunted when the first few wizards and witches began to file either towards the fireplaces, or the barrier towards the muggle station. “All the ashes?”

“Inferi,” Harry returned lightly. “Reason for your delay?”

“Weren't alerted until after the fact,” Moody grunted unhappily, scowling at a young wizard who'd been staring at his scarred face and artificial eye a second too long, causing the young man to jump and hurry along, trying to look like he hadn't been staring at all.

Harry tutted mockingly, mostly to rile the man up.

She didn't have the opportunity to have a lot of fun, these days, so she'd have to take the chance whenever it presented itself.

Moody scowled at her.

“The Ministry should look into some way of rectifying that,” she said idly, crossing her arms over her chest. “These are dangerous times.”

“Any suggestions?” Moody asked, sounding huffy and irritated, though interested enough.

He'd been trying to figure out how she knew to show up at the scene of Death Eater attacks for a while now.

“And make it easier for you to anticipate me?” she asked lightly, even while she weighed the pros and cons of giving him a few pointers. She grew more serious. “I'm afraid it wouldn't be applicable for a large scale operation like the Auror forces.”

You had to tie the kind of ward Harry was using to a person, and Aurors weren't on duty all the time, and even if they shared the burden between themselves, most people didn't have the magical power needed to sustain something like that long-term.

As always, Harry was something of an anomaly.

And it also just so happened that Harry was _blessed_ enough to be particularly sensitive to Voldemort's _foul,_ special brand of magical signature.

_Lucky her_.

“Pity,” Moody commented after a slight pause, sending her another look. “Looks like the bastards aren't showing today.”

“I'd say a fair few of them swung by, but they forgot to bring their uniforms,” Harry murmured back, gaze lingering on Barrett Avery, father of Edric Avery, as he made his way towards the fireplaces with a superior sneer on his face. Both father and son were avid Death Eaters, even though Avery the younger was just beginning his sixth year, sharing classes with Sirius, Remus and her teenaged parents.

Moody turned to look at Barrett Avery as well, before the man disappeared in a burst of green flames.

The platform was emptying quickly, since no one wanted to linger anywhere in public these days, so Harry stepped away from the wall.

“Until next time, Auror Moody,” she bid the man, who watched her walk away without another word.

At least he hadn't yet tried to curse her from behind, which was always something, she mused.

-x-x-x-

Hogwarts didn't feel the same.

Regulus couldn't put a finger on what had changed, but that didn't change the fact that something felt different.

He'd been here a week and a half already, and while the classes where interesting, the work load already weighing all the fifth year students down, he found himself missing the tent in the middle of nowhere.

Missing Harry.

Which was strange.

Not that Regulus allowed himself to dwell on that too much; there were plenty of things around here to occupy his mind with, even discounting the school work.

Regulus eyed his potential target with some consideration. He knew he might be making himself a disservice here, but that didn't mean he'd be able to stay away for the rest of term.

This was a task he had set himself, and he'd like to think he wasn't so much of a coward he'd fail to do even _this._

With one final sigh, Regulus stepped out from amongst the shelves to approach the occupied study-table.

The older boy was preoccupied enough he didn't immediately notice Regulus' approach, but that changed the moment he stopped beside his table.

“...Is there anything I can help you with?” Remus Lupin asked politely, though he couldn't quite hide the way he'd tensed and reached for his wand.

Regulus merely raised an eyebrow in the manner he knew Sirius had always hated.

Instead of saying something his brother's friend most likely wouldn't believe anyway, Regulus reached into his pocket and took out his delivery, placing it carefully on the table in front of Lupin, who was pointing his wand at him now.

Which, if some of the things he'd heard from the upper years were true, wasn't entirely without cause.

“For our mutual acquaintance,” he said coolly, having long since perfected the distant, uninterested mask that was necessary to survive in Slytherin House in these times. “My regards to my brother,” he added and walked away before Lupin could say anything or demand any answers.

Casually strolling along, Regulus turned into one of the corridor-like spaces between towering bookshelves and let out a small, relieved breath the moment he was out of sight.

Walking as silently as he could, Regulus moved around until he could catch sight of Lupin through a gap between the books, hopefully while staying completely hidden from view.

It probably helped that Lupin was rather shocked, preoccupied by what Regulus had just handed over.

He watched the other boy reach out to gingerly lift the letter, having just finished waving his wand over the lot to check for any malicious spells.

He then examined the shrunken trunk similarly, before staring at them with a sort of helpless confusion.

Lupin finally let out a small sigh, rubbed a hand over his face, and pocketed both the trunk and the letter. He gathered up his things, got to his feet, and left the Library.

The moment he was gone, Regulus allowed himself a miniscule smile, before he composed himself again and set out to do what he'd initially come here for.

Homework during your OWL year wasn't something to trifle with, or take lightly, and he was beginning to see what Harry had meant about not having a lot of free time.

One hand rising to touch the spot the medallion was resting under his clothes, he set off to find the books he needed to write his Potions essay.

.

The next morning, Regulus arrived at breakfast and was almost immediately accosted by the intense feeling of being observed.

It didn't take long to ascertain that his watchers weren't sitting at his own table, but rather on the other side of the Great Hall.

Doing his best to ignore the scrutiny and act like he always did, Regulus served himself breakfast and focused on eating.

All until the post arrived.

Taking the newspaper and dutifully handing the owl a piece of bacon, Regulus turned his attention to the paper itself, unrolling it to take a look at the front page to see if anything of note had happened lately.

Only to stop and stare.

MYSTERIOUS OPPOSER OF THE SO-CALLED DEATH EATERS REPELLS DEMENTOR ATTACK, the headline said, showing a picture of Harry, in all her cloaked glory, in the middle of what looked like a _swarm_ of Dementors, back straight and wand raised, a brilliant Patronus springing out of her wand.

A rather _memorable_ Patronus; a griffin.

Just like her animagus form.

In fact, as far as he could see, Regulus would say it was an _exact_ replica of Harry herself as a griffin. Wings spread, beak open in a fierce shriek and talons aimed at the retreating Dementors.

Well.

If she didn't have the Dark Lord's – and everyone else's – attention before, she most certainly did so _now_.

He barely managed to refrain from burying his face in his hands.

Was she _trying_ to make herself a bigger target? She was going to get herself killed!

She'd made allusions to a plan several times, but Regulus was seriously beginning to doubt there actually was one beyond 'fight everyone and win'.

Which was just unrealistic and why did Regulus want to associate with someone like that? Someone who would no doubt meet a gruesome death at the hands of the Dark Lord? Or an overzealous Ministry Auror.

Regulus opened the newspaper and quickly read through the main article.

The more he read, the more his thoughts spun. He was undoubtedly the single person in this whole room, in all of Britain, in fact, sitting on as much information about Harry – Griffin, as they were now calling her; how _imaginative –_ and could make some rather fascinating conclusions that the rest of the population no doubt couldn't.

Who... who was she? Really?

He'd wondered since he'd first met her, of course, but... but this. How many people had Harry saved while he'd remained ignorant?

The journalist had managed to procure a roughly estimated list of people she'd saved, this summer. Most of while Regulus had stayed with her.

And he'd known she was strong, very much so, or his father never would have put up as little fuss as he had when they'd gone to get his and Sirius' things.

But he'd clearly underestimated her.

According to the journalist – who seemed mildly awed, judging by the writing – nothing seemed to face Griffin, who just dealt with everything the Dark Lord and the _Ministry_ , dear Merlin, threw at her with cold, silent efficiency.

Regulus was mildly preoccupied for the rest of the day, but thankfully, most of the professors seemed to be in a similar situation, and the student-body as a whole whispered about the article between them all throughout classes.

In various tones of voice.

He even heard gossip that a Hufflepuff second year had seen Griffin up close this summer. That a Ravenclaw's family had been saved by 'him'.

The first moment to himself he got, Regulus pulled out the medallion and wrote out a quick message to Harry.

_You're in the paper. Are you okay?_

While he waited for her to answer, he clutched the golden disc tightly enough the hard, rounded edges nearly cut through the skin of his palm.

Finally, _finally_ , the medallion warmed in his hand, and he fumbled a little in his hurry to read what she'd sent.

_I'm fine. Are they writing anything interesting?_

_They're calling you Griffin. Author seemed quite taken with you,_ he wrote back, feeling almost shaky with the surge of relief rushing through him.

The confirmation that she was fine, though she hadn't said _unhurt_ , made him feel almost faint.

_Fuck_ , was all he got back, and Regulus almost choked on the surge of incredulous laughter bubbling up his throat, quite unexpectedly.

He could clearly imagine Harry scrambling for her cloak to rush out and get herself a newspaper to check the damage.

Laughing quietly to himself, and finally able to relax now that he knew Harry wasn't bleeding out in a ditch somewhere, Regulus exited the empty classroom he'd been using and continued on to his next class, feeling to be in a better mood than he'd been all week.

-x-x-x-

“Where's Horace?” Minerva asked impatiently.

“Late, as usual,” Pomona sighed, shaking her head. “Let's begin without him; he'll no doubt come huffing through that door in a minute or two,” she suggested.

“Very well.” Albus inclined his head and steepled his fingers in front of him, looking over his gathered professors.

Cattleburn wasn't there, as usual; he believed his time was better spent tending to the various animals calling the Hogwarts' grounds and the Forbidden Forest home.

But all the core subject teachers were present and accounted for, with the exception of Horace, who was no doubt on his way.

“Does anyone have anything pressing to bring up first?” Albus asked, glancing over his gathered staff.

“I'm gravely concerned for Miss Fisher. She's already struggling to keep up with her studies, and I'm afraid the situation might turn into something worse if we don't catch it already now,” Filius said with a frown.

“She's worried for her family, I presume?” Albus asked, even though he was fairly sure he knew the answer already. “I'll talk to Poppy,” he promised when Filius nodded, making a quick note of it on a fresh piece of parchment. “Anything else? Ah, Horace, so nice of you to finally join us.”

“My apologies,” Horace huffed, wiping a handkerchief over his perspiring forehead. “I'm afraid I'm not as spry as I once was,” he panted as he waddled over to the only unoccupied chair.

Minerva sent the man's impressive girth a scornful glance, but held her tongue.

“We were just talking about if there were any students we were particularly concerned about, Horace,” Albus said pleasantly, though he made sure to send the man a sharp look, despite knowing that he wouldn't change anytime soon.

Horace was far too fond of his own self-image to admit he needed more time to climb the stairs than he'd had when he was twenty.

“Ah, yes,” Horace huffed, a trouble expression on his meaty face. “Plenty of those, these years.”

“Indeed,” Minerva said sharply. “So tell us, Horace, which ones of your students are the most... _troubled_ , by these times?”

“It's a complicated situation, Minerva, as you're well aware,” the man hedged uncomfortably, before he brightened marginally. “Though there was one, slightly more light-hearted matter I'd like to discuss with you.” He smiled, stubbornly ignorant of the irritated looks he was getting from his colleagues with the deliberate change in subject. “I was wondering if any one of you had taken to tutoring young Mr. Black?”

“Mr. Black?” Albus frowned slightly, trying to recall everything he knew about the boy.

Horace nodded enthusiastically, causing all five of his chins to wobble. “He's already doing much better in Potions, and when I've inquired with my esteemed colleagues, they've all gotten the same results. So! I was wondering if any of you have taken him under your wing.” He smiled, peering expectantly at the gathered people, as if expecting one of them to admit to some sort of great accomplishment.

“We're barely three weeks into the new term, Horace,” Filius pointed out kindly. “Any tutoring anyone might have given him wouldn't have had the chance to show any results yet.”

“Which begs the question of what else has changed in the young man's life.” Caradoc Dearborn frowned thoughtfully.

Most of the group turned to eye Albus, who sighed.

“I haven't heard anything about any changed circumstances in young Regulus' home life, other than the fact that his older brother is now a permanent resident of the Potters,” he said evenly, trying to figure out what he was missing. “But we've known about that for some time.”

Which had happened at the end of the Christmas holiday, if he wasn't mistaken.

“Perhaps Walburga is finally pleased enough that the situation at home is slightly less tense,” Minerva suggested dryly, voice fairly dripping with contained emotions, none of which were positive. “Regulus might have been given something of a breather this summer.”

“While that sounds somewhat plausible, I don't think that's it, Minerva,” Filius piped up. “I've noticed that your young Black seems as befuddled about Regulus' change in behaviour as the rest of us; he was discussing it quite intently with his friends during Charms the other day.”

Caradoc watched the rest of the professors quietly discuss the one student. Seeing as he was only here for the year, he didn't know as much about the situation as the rest of them.

“Well, I just know that the notes on the students Attwater left me from last year indicates he's had quite the improvement in Defence over the summer,” the man interjected neutrally, adding his own piece to the conversation.

“Do you think he's been initiated already, Albus?” Minerva asked, and she looked tired. “He's only fifteen.”

“We can only observe and try and help our students as much as they will let us, my dear,” Albus sighed heavily, silently admitting to himself that it could be a possibility. “Now, we need to discuss the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend-”

-x-x-x-


	6. Chapter 6

The most irritating problem, was that she didn't _know_ that all the Horcruxes had been placed where she knew they would have ended up without interference from her.

Harry scowled up at the canvas ceiling where she lay sprawled on the sitting room floor.

Had Lucius Malfoy been given the diary yet?

Had Bellatrix been entrusted with the cup?

At least she was fairly sure the locket _hadn't_ been placed in the cave yet, because that had happened later.

Her scowl deepened and she continued down the list.

Was Nagini in the picture yet? Or had he made her after he'd been- but no. Nagini had been there that night in the graveyard, so he must have made her into one before he died the first time.

Harry herself was, thank Merlin, no longer a Horcrux and would never become one again. She'd do everything in her power to avoid that particular fate.

That left...

The ring.

But that, in itself, was something of a problem.

She knew where to most likely find it, but other than that, there were two problems.

One, the curse on the damn thing. It had very nearly killed Dumbledore; would have, if Snape hadn't killed him first.

Two, the resurrection stone.

Harry pressed her hands to her face, blocking out her sight.

The people she wanted to see were either alive and well but didn't know her. Or, they hadn't been born yet.

The stone's appeal had never been so _lacking_.

But...

But there was a _chance_ , infinitesimal though it might be, that one of the people she desperately wanted to see would be called forth.

And that was a dangerous path to consider.

Would she be able to step away from the stone a second time in her life? Now that she was more isolated than ever before?

Harry sat up with a heavy sigh, letting her hands fall to her lap, and she frowned down at them.

“It's not like I have anyone to ask to do it for me,” she muttered.

There was always Kreacher, but she didn't want to abuse her power over him. And that was discounting the fact that she already knew he was unable to destroy a Horcrux; he'd all but lost his mind trying, once upon a not-so-distant future.

Well, there was just one thing to do, wasn't there?

Next; Little Hangleton.

“Here's to hoping he won't notice anything,” she huffed to herself, climbing to her feet and going to prepare herself.

Destroying Horcuxes wasn't a walk in the park, but she'd manage.

She was older now. More experienced.

Failure was unthinkable.

-x-x-x-

“You're doing it again,” Remus said idly as he buttered himself a breakfast muffin, all without looking up from his newspaper.

“ _He's_ the one doing it again,” Sirius muttered back, turning to frown at his friend.

James and Peter exchanged a quick look and pointedly didn't comment.

“Did you finish your Transfiguration homework?” Peter asked James, voice slightly louder than it absolutely had to be, considering they were sitting right next to each other.

All of them knew the question was entirely redundant, partly because James could do his Transfiguration assignments in his sleep, and partly because they'd all done – and finished – their essays due to McGonagall last night. Together.

“You two are the _worst_ ,” Sirius said, scowling at them.

“Come on, mate. You've talked about little else all month,” James cajoled, though he had the grace to look a little guilty.

“Yeah, you're starting to sound like James whenever he talks about Evans,” Peter added, only to nearly be tackled off the bench by aforementioned teenager.

Sirius would normally have been greatly entertained by the friendly scuffle and cheered both of them on with enthusiasm, but he just wasn't feeling it today.

Leaving the two of them to it, he turned back to Remus; his only good, mostly sane, friend.

“What's his angle?” he asked, narrowing his eyes to stare across the Hall at his younger brother once again.

“You've asked the same thing a dozen times just this week, Pads,” Remus returned calmly, sounding sympathetic though long-suffering. “The answer is still the same; we don't know.”

Sirius crossed his arms over his chest.

He just didn't know what to think.

Regulus had ambushed Remus in the Library, but instead of doing something predictable, like hexing him from behind, he'd walked up to him, been his usual snobbish self, and- given Remus what looked like the full inventory of Sirius' room.

Everything he'd been forced to leave behind at Grimmauld Place.

Was now his to do with what he wanted.

All because of his perfect pureblood little brother.

It didn't make a lick of sense!

He'd sort of expected good old mum to have torched his room as soon as she realised he was gone, gleefully watching it burn. Having Kreacher take a photo to commemorate the occasion, even.

But it wasn't _just_ that.

He probably could have accepted it, if it had just been that.

Regulus was walking differently, he was behaving _differently_. As if there was a weight off his shoulders and he no longer had quite so much to worry about and it-

Sirius clenched his jaw, pushed his plate away from himself and got to his feet.

“I'm going to talk to him,” he decided, and stalked off before any of his friends could attempt to talk him out of it or try to stop him.

James called after him, but he could just about catch Remus shushing him, and he reminded himself to give Moony a chocolate frog later; it was important to reward good behaviour.

Shaking his head to get back on topic, Sirius parked himself in the perfect spot to be mostly out of sight to ambush his little brother. Which happened to be in an out of the way alcove close to the stairs leading down in the direction of the Slytherin dorms.

He didn't have to wait very long; Reggie had always liked to have plenty of time to get to class.

“Reggie,” he said when Regulus approached, thankfully on his own.

Regulus paused, stared blankly at him for a moment, and then slowly joined him in the semi-private alcove Sirius was standing in.

Standing this close, he realised that Regulus had grown since he last saw him, slowly but steadily catching up to Sirius' height.

“What is it, Sirius?” Regulus asked after an awkward pause, where both of them had just stared at the other, and he sounded tired.

It reminded Sirius that his brother was dealing with his OWL year, and the insane amount of work that meant; he still had nightmares about last year, and wasn't looking forward to next year and his NEWTs _at all_.

“Why?” he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

Regulus eyed him a moment, before he sighed. “Because they're your things,” he said with a shrug, not even attempting to try and act ignorant of what Sirius was talking about. “Who knows what Mother eventually might have done with them in a mood?” he muttered next, frowning off to the side.

“Yeah, which is great,” Sirius said curtly. “Thanks a bunch and all that. What I don't get, _Reggie_ , is why you _care_?”

The look Regulus sent him nearly made him flinch with guilt, because Regulus _cared_. Had always cared. He knew he did, it was just... hard to remember, sometimes.

“Because you're my brother,” Regulus spat, cheeks growing pink with rising anger.

The words felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Really? Because you've been doing your best to act like you're a single child the last few years,” Sirius returned hotly, squashing down his confusion and guilt to deal with later. Right now, he had to focus on the boy in front of him.

“You have no idea what it was like!” Regulus hissed, before he took a deep breath, obviously in an attempt to calm himself, staring angrily at Sirius all the while.

It was the most reaction he'd seen Regulus give in years.

Regulus huffed irritably and glared at him for a few seconds, before he took another deep breath and visibly calmed himself.

“What do you want, Sirius?” he asked curtly.

“I'm trying to work out your angle,” Sirius replied bluntly, forging straight ahead like the Gryffindor he was. “Trying to figure out if having me out of your life is the reason you're looking so damn happy lately-” his voice broke slightly, but he just cleared his throat and forged ahead. “Or if it's because you've sworn yourself to the 'Dark Lord' already.”

Regulus looked stricken.

“Did mummy and daddy get so happy to have me out of their hair, you're all living the pureblood dream these days? Or is it just because I'm no longer there to contaminate the house with my traitorous blood?” The words just kept falling from his mouth, as if of their own accord. “Or was it just _such a relief-_ ”

“ _I'm not living with Mother and Father any more!_ ” Regulus growled harshly, interrupting Sirius and talking over his next accusation.

Leaving him speechless.

Even Regulus looked shocked at his own words, as if he hadn't intended to say them at all.

“I'm- I'm not living with Mother and Father any more,” he repeated, slowly and far more calmly this time, as if tasting the words. As if he was speaking them out loud for the first time.

“What? But- Why would you- Who've you been living with? Since _when_?” Sirius couldn't help but ask, feeling unsettled and caught completely flat-footed.

“Since about two weeks into the summer break.” Regulus shrugged easily, as if it wasn't a big deal.

“And?” Sirius prompted, wanting to get an answer to his other question.

Regulus stared at him, face unreadable.

It was the face Sirius hated the most; he'd always been able to read Regulus like a book, better than anyone else, before Hogwarts. And the fact that he _couldn't_ any more, just accentuated how much they'd been forced apart.

By the world. By their parents.

By the war.

“Father isn't the Head of the family any more,” Regulus said quietly, voice barely audible, and it felt like the two of them were occupying a space separate from the rest of the castle population. Like it was just the two of them in existence.

“What,” Sirius breathed, mind grinding to a screeching halt.

“Father isn't the Head any longer,” Regulus repeated, a bit louder, “And I'm staying with the new Head.”

Sirius stared at his little brother, who stood straight-backed before him and looking like the well-groomed, perfect Slytherin prince their parents had done their best to mould him into.

“You're... staying with grandfather?” he asked faintly, mouth feeling dry.

Regulus shook his head. “You don't know him,” he said.

Which just didn't make _any_ sense.

“The Family Magicks abandoned Father and chose him instead,” Regulus said quietly, looking silently baffled by his own words.

Which was _nothing_ compared to the outright befuddlement Sirius was currently experiencing.

Regulus hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something more, but changed his mind and the distant mask slipped back over his features.

“Forgive me, Sirius, but I'll be late for class,” he said, and walked off.

Leaving Sirius alone and reeling in the alcove.

.

Sirius caught up with Regulus the following day, having skipped all the classes he knew he could get away with in an attempt to nail down Regulus to continue their talk.

“What do you mean, _I don't know him!?_ ” Sirius demanded the moment he'd dragged Regulus into an empty classroom, not giving two knuts that it made him look like he was trying to abduct the fifth year Slytherin. Or planned to beat him up, or something.

“Hello to you, too, brother,” Regulus muttered, straightening his clothes and sending him an irritated glower. “Couldn't you think of any other way to speak with me than by literally dragging me off?”

Sirius huffed. “Don't try to change the subject,” he said, undeterred by Regulus' cool look.

They stared impassively at each other for a tense minute.

“Are your friends hiding somewhere nearby? Keeping an eye on me, to make sure I don't do anything _sly_?”

Sirius scoffed, ignoring the small part of his mind that pointedly reminded him that he'd had to convince James and Peter not to do just that.

“No,” he said, rolling his eyes. “As if I'd need back-up just to talk to my own brother.”

The silence thickened, as the reality of that statement slowly sank in, leaving them in a tense, awkward atmosphere.

Because last year, that hadn't been all that far from the truth.

Sirius cleared his throat. “What did you mean, Reggie? Please.”

He hadn't been able to get those words out of his head. _Who had his baby brother been living with all summer?_

“...you've never met him,” Regulus eventually said, crossing his arms over his chest to stare avidly at Sirius, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“I want- I _need_ to know,” Sirius insisted.

Regulus gave a heavy, long-suffering sigh. “What does his name matter when you still don't know who he is, Siri?”

“Because you've spent most of summer with him!” Sirius exclaimed frustratedly, turning away from his brother to pace the room. “He could be a creep!” he continued, only to freeze in his tracks. “How old is he?” he asked with slowly growing horror.

Merlin, what if Regulus had been stuck with some kind of _pervert!_

“Why are you like this?” Regulus muttered under his breath, before expelling an explosive sigh, pulling a hand through his hair in a gesture Sirius hadn't ever seen him exhibit before. “He's twenty-seven, Sirius. He didn't force me to stay with him, he didn't do anything weird.”

“Says you,” Sirius scoffed, though he took a moment to let the words sink in.

Which just begged the question... who the _hell_ did he know in their family that fit those criteria?

He'd just learned three things, so far, but he felt like he could already discount all of their relatives. _No one_ fit!

His face screwed up with mounting frustration and concern.

“That's it,” he snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “I'm going to McGonagall,” he decided, turning towards the door.

For all that the Marauders were something of a constant headache for Minnie, their Head of House was reliable whenever you were in real trouble, and would at least hear you out and do her damnedest to help you, before flaying you alive.

He hadn't been counting on the way Regulus threw himself in front of the door, grabbing his arm to stop him from drawing his wand.

“ _Don't_ do that!” Regulus huffed, sounding calm, though the grip on his arm was tight enough it bordered on painful.

Sirius stared at him, slightly wide-eyed.

“This isn't very reassuring, Reggie,” he pointed out with forced calm, feeling a strange sort of panic slowly taking hold of him.

His little brother was involved with something dangerous.

Oh, Merlin; was he a Death Eater already? He was just fifteen!

“He doesn't want to attract attention, that's not the same as being a horrible criminal,” Regulus drawled, though his hold on him tightened fractionally rather than relaxed.

“Merlin's saggy balls, he's a Death Eater and he initiated you this summer,” Sirius whispered faintly, feeling light-headed.

“No!” Regulus growled, sounding more frustrated than angry. “He's a good person,” he insisted.

“You say that, but is he _your_ kind of 'good person' or mine?” Sirius muttered, mouth working seemingly on automatics while his mind was trying to catch up to what was happening.

Regulus paused to think on it – a not very promising sign – and tilted his head.

“...a little bit of both?” he finally offered uncertainly.

Sirius stared at his brother for all of two seconds, before, “I'm going to McGonagall,” he repeated firmly, making another attempt to exit the empty classroom.

Regulus bodily held him back.

Which, on it's own, was enough to make Sirius pause; since when was his brother physically strong enough to do that?

“Will you let me explain?” Regulus hissed, sounding agitated. “He's a little bit of both, okay? That doesn't mean you have to go and be,” he made a vague, frustrated hand-gesture at Sirius, before pulling at his own hair again, “because that might put him in more danger than you can feasibly realise.”

“Again; not very reassuring, Reggie,” Sirius muttered.

Regulus sent him a sharp, irate glare to shut him up. “He's a _good_ person,” he insisted. “But he doesn't have a problem breaking a few rules if that's what has to be done, _which_ ,” he glared at him again, “shouldn't be an unfamiliar concept to you.”

Sirius stared at Regulus, as if seeing him for the first time.

“He's trying to _change_ things, Sirius,” Regulus said quietly, staring intently at him, meeting his gaze head on; something he'd done his best to avoid ever since Sirius had been Sorted Gryffindor. “And I may not agree with everything he's trying to do, but, you can't stop him.”

Of that, Regulus seemed entirely sure, not a shred of doubt in his eyes.

Sirius took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

“What if you're under his influence?” he couldn't help but ask.

It was widely acknowledged that the _imperius_ was one of the bigger threats in these times, even to people not directly opposing the Dark Lord.

Regulus cocked his head in thought. “Well, there wouldn't be anything either of us could do about that, either,” he mused quietly. “But I choose to believe he'd never do that. He's not like Father. _Nothing_ like Mother,” he said firmly, not a doubt in his mind.

“Okay,” Sirius said, unable to do anything else in the face of that.

He'd never seen Regulus like this. Had never heard him speak like this or look so... _confident_ in himself, either.

Regulus blinked at him for a moment, as if he'd expected him to drag it out for much longer.

After another awkward few seconds, Regulus let go of his arm and stepped away from him, clearing his throat with an uncomfortable expression.

“Good,” he said lamely. “I have class,” he added, as if just remembering.

Sirius watched Regulus pick up his book-bag, which had fallen to the floor when he'd rushed to stop him from leaving, earlier, and turn towards the door.

He put a hand on the door handle and paused.

“It's nice being able to talk to you again without having to fear Mother and Father's reaction,” he said quietly, not looking at him, and then left without giving Sirius a chance to respond.

Feeling completely pole-axed, for more than one reason, Sirius slumped down to sit on the dusty floor with a heavy, shaky sigh.

Where to _start_ digesting all of this?

-x-x-x-

“Check the Map again,” James said, closing yet another door to an unused but more importantly, _empty_ , classroom.

“It's not that accurate yet, James, you _know_ that,” Remus muttered, nonetheless frowning down at the Map.

“He missed dinner!” James huffed, scowling at the next door and wondered if there wasn't a faster way. If only Sirius hadn't left his mirror in their dorm...

“Found him!” Peter exclaimed, having moved further down the corridor while they talked, causing both James and Remus to instantly stop what they were doing to hurry down there.

“Merlin, he's been cursed; we're going to the Hospital Wing!” James declared half a second after laying eyes on Sirius' seated form.

“Hit him on the head for me, will you, Peter?” Remus said, easily ignoring James' fretting to walk up to and sit down next to Sirius. “What's up?” he asked their previously missing friend.

“Who knows?” Sirius muttered back.

“He clearly needs Poppy, Moony!” James objected, feeling mildly offended, dodging Peter's repeated attempts to slap him around the head, as per Moony's orders.

Excuse him for being reasonably concerned for his best mate. Who had, incidentally, been missing for almost half a day!

Sirius snorted, rubbed his hands over his face and finally focused on them. “I'm fine, Prongs,” he rolled his eyes at James' no doubt sceptical look. “I'm _fine_ ,” he insisted. “I just had a lot on my mind, alright?”

“So I take it the talk went... well?” Peter slowly asked, stopping his gleeful attempts at abusing James to lower himself to the dusty floor with a small grimace and a huff.

Sirius tilted his head. “It went,” he hesitated, “ _weird_.”

James sighed. He didn't even know what that was supposed to mean.

“So things are good between you and your brother again?” Peter tried to clarify, looking confused.

“I don't know, Wormtail. I don't know,” Sirius said solemnly, only to groan and rest his head against the stone wall behind him.

“Maybe it'll make more sense if you talk about it?” Remus suggested.

James, and the other two, knew he was really just dying of curiosity; he had no idea why all the professors never suspected Remus of anything.

No, wait, he did. His sickly disposition combined with his love of books made people think there was nothing more to him than the standard bookworm.

It always made him want to scoff derisively.

James had seen through to the wily, mischievous, outright snarky person underneath almost right away, and he'd been _eleven_ at the time.

“Or,” Sirius replied after a moment, “it's just going to make you lot as confused as me.”

“There's only one way to find out,” James declared cheerfully, determined to make the best of this now that he knew Sirius was mostly okay. “Let's take this back to the dorm before Minnie finds us out of our beds after curfew again and have our hides. And then, _spill_ ,” he declared with a wide, uncompromising grin.

“Oh, but a late-night rendezvous with the love of my life is far too difficult to stand up, Prongs!” Sirius protested dramatically, just like James had hoped he would. “I prepared a _picnic!_ ”

“I'm sure she'll be heartbroken to later learn of this missed opportunity,” Remus commented dryly, getting to his feet and helping Peter to do the same.

“You're trying to keep us apart!” Sirius gasped, pointing an accusing finger at Remus, who rolled his eyes with an amused smile. “I'll have you know, Moony, that _nothing_ , not even _friendship_ can stand in the way of True Love!” he declared grandly, looking absolutely ridiculous, sitting on the floor covered in dust as he was.

“I'll help you write her another ode after our talk, Padfoot,” James swore with a grin, already having a few ideas in the back of his head.

Looked like the Marauders were up for another prank in the near future, but first.

“Now, let's get going so you can tell us about why your brother's been acting so strangely,” he said, holding out his hand to help Sirius back onto his feet. “Come on, boy; heel!” he ordered firmly, patting the side of his leg and walking towards the door.

“Of course, deer,” Sirius returned with a smirk.

James would have stayed to watch him draw his wand, but he'd taken the wiser course of action and had started running down the corridor towards Gryffindor Tower as fast as his legs could carry him, startling a suit of armour enough it nearly dropped its sword when he came careening around a corner, cackling with laughter.

“Why do they always do this?” he distantly heard Peter ask, clearly bemused, but was too busy ducking out of the way of the tripping jinx Sirius had just sent after him to pay it more attention than that.

-x-x-x-


End file.
